Sail the Ocean with Me
by Saruno Hadaki
Summary: Wanted for crimes he's committed, the Great Captain Kirkland rules the seven seas in 17th century England. But, after a very unlikely encounter with a certain American, he finds himself trapped on the enemy's ship. With none of his own men to save or protect him, Arthur must survive the American captain by himself. Can he escape the ship alive, and maintain himself along the way?
1. It Started with One Impromptu Decision

It All Started with One Impromptu Decision

Today was like any other day. It was a day for sailing, for exploring, and for plundering, the number one thing any pirate knew how to do. Across the ocean sat beautiful vessels just waiting to be stolen from, vessels that probably held important secrets. The Captain Arthur Kirkland's ship was one of those vulnerable ships, awaiting others for a battle to show true power.

Pirates clamoured along the deck, their footsteps reverberating against the hollow floor. The Great Captain Kirkland hoisted himself up onto one of the spars holding the masts together. He shouted orders to his men, watching them from above. Men shouted at each other from below, and Arthur gazed across the spars to one enemy ship just begging to be looted. Canons were fired once told to do so from the Brit's mouth, and the two ships engaged in naval combat. The heavy artillery struck the Brit's ship, and he gazed at the ship that dared battle his own.

The great pirate's ship sailed forward, aided by Arthur's right hand man, who was currently manning the wheel. When the two ships were close enough together, ropes were tossed across the decks of the ships and jerked to pull the two ships together. The vessels rattled together until they floated abreast, the enemy tremendously close to them. The Brit could make out people's faces from so high up, could even glimpse at the offending ship's wheel to see who pulled the strings over there. Oh, what a wonderful feeling it would be to see that man die at his feet today…

"Battle!" the Brit chanted, thrusting his sword into the air with the power of a blood-lusting villain.

An air of shouts followed Arthur's demand, cheering along to his eternal encouragement. Then, the battle began. Pirates flooded in from both ships, surging together to form one mass calamity on board both of the captain's ships. Swords clanged against each other, metal on metal. Gun shots and shouts rang throughout the ship, rattling the Brit's teeth together and upsetting his delicate ears. He unlatched a gun from his waist and carefully aimed down at the men below. Relying only on his ability to pick out men from his crew, Arthur fired, bringing a man to his knees.

Little by little, though, the sides began to turn, favouring the opposite side. Arthur's heart swelled with the lust of battle, craving victory even in the most unlikely of circumstances. Beautiful blood painted the deck of Arthur's beloved Alice crimson.

As the battle continued, Arthur's patience began to dwindle. He gripped the rope with two gloved hands and slithered into the growing battle ensuing on his ship. His side was losing, terribly so, and the Britton was growing frustrated, timidly refusing to let his good men die in vain. His ears rang with the persistent fluttering of his heart, his hands sweating with trepidation. He rapidly thrust his sword out to meet assailing strangers,' fending off the attacks of multiple swashbucklers. There were limbs and voices everywhere, and the only thing the great captain could do was fidget, with sword in hand, as he shoved his elbows into people's sides and made his way to the other captain's ship. If he killed that man, victory would no doubt be ensured to him.

Making his way to the other's ship was a bit more difficult than just evading other people. Weapons were everywhere, and if the Brit wasn't careful he could even lose his head in an attempt to simply move from one side of the deck to the other. He swelled with pride as he watched several of his men battle bravely against the enemy, although it seemed their enthusiasm did nothing to ensure their victory. Arthur heaved himself over the deck of his ship and landed on the deck of the other ship with a gentle _thump_.

The first step onto the other captain's ship was like walking into another world. His feet slipped slightly on the deck's wet surface, and the Brit immediately realised that this ship was lower than his own. Water sloshed over the side of the hull, and the ocean spray sprinkled Arthur's face with dew. The fight dwindled to nearly nothing on the winning side, where the enemy were needed to seize Arthur's Alice. Well, he'd be damned if those bloody blokes got away with that, with the battle initiating on his ship, forcing back his men for every piece of deck they could get. It forced the Brit's hand.

There were several shouts emanating from this ship, and then several pirates appeared, prepared to push Arthur back onto his ship, or kill him on the spot, he didn't know which. The Brit smirked triumphantly as the men came barreling towards him. With several flicks of his wrist and a few good flourishes from his sword, Arthur vanquished the few men he was challenged with. The bodies dropped at his feet, and Arthur's beautiful emerald eyes glinted with intimations of unadulterated discontentment. He scowled disdainfully at his bloody sword, knowing it was wasted on such weaklings. He yearned bigger game.

And, as the Brit began his search for the Captain, he began to feel the slightest bit agitated. Glancing back over his shoulder, Arthur registered the motive for such discomfort. Men were beginning to return to the ship, and a sinking feeling nestled itself in Arthur's stomach. Had they… lost? Defeated, by some… amateur? Well, surely not! That couldn't possibly be bloody true! Nothing could defeat his men's expert sword-wielding capabilities. Defeat was surely just a minor fluke.

But really, what was going on? Why were there suddenly so many people returning to this ship?

To get a better view of what was happening, Captain Kirkland sought higher ground. He found such on a wooden platform high above the deck of the ship, and climbed until he was sure he was safe. Gazing down at the men below, Arthur managed to pick out several of his own men tied up and gagged. "What in bloody blazes!" he squawked, his bushy eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. They had no right doing that, even if they were bounty hunters, or islanders, or whatever they bloody wanted to call themselves. Arthur knew he was a wanted man and, admittedly, a siege was bound to occur sometime. And, even as the Brit seethed with annoyance, his anger drained away as he began to notice something.

Alice's beautiful black sails unfurled and flapped against the ocean breeze.

While sulking in his terrible realisation, Arthur ignored the shouts echoing from below. It wasn't until about the third threat that he finally glanced down at the men shouting at him, grimacing forebodingly. "Hey! Come down! Now!" the stranger shouted, probably riding on the last of their nerves. Arthur jerked his head away and defiantly jutted out his chin, refusing to listen to such insolent bastards. The people below began to murmur amongst each other, probably whispering things about the strange Brit. Even after clearly indicating that he wanted to play no part in the stupid pirate's complaints, one brave pirate decided to take a chance at coaxing the infamous Arthur Kirkland down from his spot high up on the ship. Arthur joyfully watched as the man hoisted himself onto the mast and began to climb. The captain chuckled, situating himself so he was awfully comfortable on this great, beautiful ship.

"You can't get me, you bloody wanker! Stop trying!" Arthur exclaimed, slapping his hands together in a joyous fit of exultation. His eyes momentarily whisked over to his blessed Alice, watching as she began to sail away. She looked simply breathtaking, even as she left her own captain behind. The ship rammed against the ocean, slicing a path ahead and into the unknown of the ocean. The Brit's mouth began to gape open. They… they must not have known he was still on the enemy's ship; but faith stood its ground in Arthur's heart. Even as Alice sailed away, Arthur knew everything would be okay. He'd live to see his ship, and his men, again, and he swore upon his own Alice on that statement.

The British captain gazed at his ship, watching as she sailed away. A delayed reaction followed the touch of Arthur's foot, making him jerk his whole leg away from the edge of the wooden platform. He swore just like a sailor would, and his bushy eyebrows shot up in wholesome astonishment. "D-don't come any closer, you git!" he exclaimed, even as the stranger hoisted himself up onto the platform beside the great captain.

The air became strangely thick with discomfort. The Brit jerked away from the American stranger, his emerald eyes shooting up in astonishment. The face was… to be quite honest, strikingly gorgeous. The man's sapphire eyes were lit up brighter than any of the tropical seas off of the coast of any island. His hair glittered a fine golden colour, and his fine face nestled itself between those beautiful tresses. His lips twitched up into a potential smile as he tentatively reached out to touch Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's bushy brows shot up in astonishment. "You bloody bastard! Let go of me, you bloody twat! Stop!" he squealed, shoving the strange man's hands away.

The man wasn't deterred. In fact, his pearly smile grew even bigger until nearly every inch of his white teeth were showing. "Hold still, buddy. I'm just here to tie you up." he replied. That voice… such a friendly one, even if it belonged to such a detested enemy. "You will do no such thing." The Brit replied, thrusting his nose high into the air. The stranger chuckled gleefully as he settled himself in front of Arthur.

"You are Arthur Kirkland… right?" he inquired. Arthur scoffed lightly, insulted that the man wouldn't recognise a living icon when he saw one. "Aye, that be me." He proudly announced, his heart swelling with that poignant feeling of authority. "Well, sorry to bust your bubble or anything pal, but I've been searching the seven seas for you for a while now, and I'm not letting you get away now." he younger twat replied. Arthur wasn't surprised; and, despite being as rude and timid as he was, was no idiot. He knew when he was beaten at his own game, and this was one of those times. Gazing down at the ship below, Arthur knew he'd either have to hop into the ocean or risk his chances jumping down to the deck if he didn't want to get caught by the American. It felt agonisingly unfair to Arthur that he be forced to cave in to another human being's demands. It was cowardly and shameful.

The American eagerly held out his hand, assuming the other would take it. Oh, Hell no. Arthur grimaced at the man and inched away from the friendly gesture. "Don't you bloody touch me!" he advised. "You sure do say 'bloody' a lot, don't you?" the other man inquired, his eyes glistening with young curiosity. The Brit's eyebrows immediately scrunched up in irritation. "I'm British, you wanker. And this Brit wants to get down. Now." he stated, efficiently dismissing the recent question.

The man tilted his head in curiosity as a crooked smile grew on his tender lips. He glanced down, back up at Arthur, and then began climbing back downwards. Arthur reclaimed his seat as the other man left. He gazed down at the top of the other's head and waited until he was a fair distance away before he also began his descent. He began to shimmy down, awkwardly pressing his feet against wooden spars. The ship wasn't really a bad ship, it simply lacked the proper rigging Arthur would have preferred. He couldn't swing from any ropes, or slide down one of the shrouds. As he climbed his way down, Arthur felt his coat being jerked back by a hook near the top of his head. Pushing his shoulders back, Arthur managed to squeeze out of the godforsaken coat and land on the deck of the sip. Though still trapped, Arthur's coat wafted gently against the breeze. Despite now having no finely crafted coat to keep him warm, Arthur rejoiced in still having his hat.

Arthur dusted himself off as he stood, making sure everything was where it was belonged. His fine attire stayed unharmed, with the exception of his trademark coat. Yet, right off the bat, the British captain could tell the enemy sailors were impressed to find him here.

"So! Kirkland!" the American pirate exclaimed as he made his way back towards Arthur. Two men flanked either side of him, men Arthur knew surprisingly well. They were Arthur's men, or so it seemed. The British man knew the two as Robert and Donney, now former men of his own crew. As it stood now, Arthur registered the fact that these men no doubt betrayed him for some good pay. He scowled and was all but baring his teeth at the impotent stranger. The young man simply waved his hands over Arthur, gesturing for the two renegades to tie him up. While the boy elaborated by twirling his finger in circles, the Robert and Donney raised their ropes and neared closer. Arthur's panic button hadn't been pressed yet, but it was only a matter of time before it was.

He frowned very bitterly at the thought of his own men betraying him for some half-witted American. An American who, at the moment, was looking rather smugly at him. Luckily, for those two men, Arthur was in no mood to fight or argue. But, if he did want to, there was no doubt in Arthur's mind that he'd be able to wipe that snooty man off of the planet with one flick of the wrist.

"Tie up his hands," the fine-haired pirate stated flippantly as he reached for the great captain's wrist. Arthur felt his former men jerk his hands behind his back and begin to conduct a knot around his wrists. The ropes were itchy and scratched against his wrists. Arthur grunted in discomfort and began to squirm against the knots confining him. They weren't generous with him, and made the ropes as tight as they could get them on his wrist without cutting off blood circulation completely. The American's hands brushed against the Brit's waist as he reached for the Brit's precious sword. The Great Captain Kirkland's cheeks burst into a furious red. "You bloody pervert! Let go of me!" he shouted, kicking his foot into the other man's shin. The American, while in the process of unsheathing the other man's sword, then drew it out with one jerk of his arm. The sword glided from its case and shined forebodingly at its British owner.

Arthur's peridot eyes shined in bewilderment. "Don't you dare, you bloody git!" he spat out each syllable as if it pained him to even speak. He grew rigid as the American lowered the sword towards Arthur's chest. The sword poked at the Brit's chest, an undesirable greeting. "Listen here, you unlikeable British swine. You shall do as I request, or I shall vanquish thee!" he exclaimed. Arthur swallowed, feeling the sword prick at his esophagus. Was this some kind of joke to him? To speak in such an unlikeable manner? Who raised this man? And, even if he was somehow managed, by who? "Look here-"

"You look here! You are not to speak unless you are spoken to, understood?" the American shouted.

The Brit's eyebrows shoved themselves downwards. He gritted his teeth and spoke very slowly. He said: "I'd rather you watch your mouth, boy. Because the second I'm freed, you will be the first one I kill."

For a moment, Arthur was sure that this stranger was going to crack. The blond's expression began to unfurl, and Arthur knew he had struck a weak spot. The boy lowered his sword, frowning uneasily at the Brit. "But that will never happen," He muttered, smoothening his voice so it came out rough and stern, "because you will never have the chance to escape. Once we reach land, I'm turning you over for my reward. And then I'll be done with you." He explained, much to Arthur's visible disappointment.

The strange American pirate handed Donney Arthur's sword, then turned back to Arthur. He reached for Arthur's hands, like a grubby thief coveting gold. He then gripped Arthur's arms and turned to the renegades by Arthur's side. How ironic, that the men at his very side were the ones he could no longer trust.

"I have this one, men. Go on ahead." he replied, waving them away. They complied, and departed with Arthur's beautiful sword. The stranger's hot fingers squeezed against Arthur's arms as he led the Brit towards his cell. It was annoying, really, to have such a persistent touch on his arm. Arthur didn't like to be touched, especially by a stranger such as this one, and practically twitched every time they took a step. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off about this pirate.

The man stopped near the front of the ship and pointed to a hatch in the floor. "Down, down, now." he cajoled, nudging Arthur towards the wooden entrance. Arthur made a small step forward, then felt a sudden hand on his shoulder. This hand shoved him down until he was sitting on his knees. He grunted and thrust his head towards the American stranger, his face beginning to fill with rage. The American knelt down as well, offering a generous smile as he unlatched the hatch and drew the door back. Arthur inched closer, then swung his legs over the edge of the gaping hole and gazed down. The American nudged him again, which resulted in him snapping his head over to the obnoxious man, his eyes blazing a bright emerald. The American leaned away, his eyes wide and innocent. The fear Arthur could pierce into his foes knew no limits, although this time he decided to use a more subtle approach as a liable threat.

"What is your name, boy? You'd be better off telling me now… that is, if you're a true gentleman, and you don't want to pay for it later." He theorized, narrowing his spectacular emerald eyes at the man; the old 'gentleman' card never failed him. The man simply chuckled at the glare and extended a hand to offer it to the Brit. Arthur huffed and gestured to his constricted arms, somewhat relived he was unable to reciprocate the handshake. The stranger simply reached over and shook the Brit's arm instead. "Captain Alfred F. Jones, at your service." He presented. "Oh, so you're the captain, an _American_ captain." He blurted out. The newly claimed Alfred simply chuckled at the man's reaction.

"Are you implying that an American can't be the captain of a ship?" he inquired. Arthur narrowed his suspicious eyes at the man. "Nay, I'd not be sayin' that. ' Tis strange, is all." he replied, turning his head the other direction.

"'Tis?" Alfred repeated.

"Aye, now… I be rather knackered. I've got to find somewhere to doss down. Have ye got a place to kip?" The Brit inquired, a rare smile twitching at the edge of his lips.

Alfred frowned as his face began to draw a blank. "You need to… masturbate?" he asked, his expression twisted with misunderstanding.

Arthur grunted. Why would anyone ever think that? This man was _so_ **_obviously_** American. "No, of course not! I'm knackered. Need to doss down? You mean you don't know any of this slang?" he asked.

Yet again, this resulted in another confused expression. "Yeah, I know it's shameful of a sailor n'all, but I don't care." Alfred admitted. "Anyways… what are you saying?" he asked eagerly.

"I'd like to go to sleep now." Arthur grumbled, indicating how tired he was with a lethargic rub of his eyes.

Alfred smiled and gestured to the hatch in front of them. "If you go down, I promise you'll come back out in the morning. You'll be fed on a regular basis, and, if you're good, I'll let you work with my crew" He offered.

The proposal first sounded extremely ludicrous to the Brit. Working… on someone else's crew? That sounded so _demeaning_ coming from a nobody, offering that sort of work to a renowned pirate captain; someone who was _above_ dirty labour and work more suited to the lower class. He was a _captain_, damn it, and he wasn't going to ruin his reputation by working for this idiot. But, then again, if the Brit could just make it onto the deck of the other's ship, he was sure he could create some sort of escape plan. If "working" meant escaping from his cell, Arthur decided it would be worth it.

Arthur gazed down at the hole, then back up at the American. "Do you promise?" he asked, much to the palpable astonishment on the American's face.

Alfred nodded, and gently pressed a hand against Arthur's back, nudging him into the hole. The Brit pushed himself over the edge and into the darkness, knowing the fall couldn't possibly be very far down. But, as he soon realised, the fall was deeper than he had expected. Arthur's feet met the wooden floorboards, and his feet slipped against the hard surface, encasing his head in pain. In attempt to ameliorate the pain, Arthur pressed a hand against his head as he gazed back up at Alfred, whose face now shone with a halo-like representation.

"I guess you're going to sleep now, huh? I'll have someone get you by morning." Alfred informed.

Arthur spat on the ground and began to associate himself with the room as the American closed the hatch. Looking down, the room looked extremely obscure and somber. But, when looking it in Arthur's perspective, it didn't look half bad. One barred window hanging high above Arthur's head provided the room with light, and gave Arthur a prime view of the ocean. He began to feel a little better when he realised the room consisted of a bed, a small dresser, and a chair. The bed, although small, offered Arthur a sense of comfort to a usually unpleasant situation. The room even had a door that probably led to the sailors' quarters or, although unlikely, the captain's quarters.

Unfortunately, when Arthur tried the door, he learned that it had been locked. He jiggled the handle only once before giving up. He'd figure out some sort of escape plan later, hopefully pertaining to getting off of this blasted ship when they reached land.

Despite Arthur's anxiety and swim-related fears, he found the place calming. He walked to the bed and kicked his shoes off as he made himself comfortable. He stared at the ceiling as he listened to the footsteps marching above him and the quiet, but incessant, sloshing of the sea against the hull of the ship. He rolled over and pressed his body against the bed, resting his head over the edge of the bed. He fell asleep with his arms crossed lazily against his chest and ocean melodies chiming in the background.

* * *

**_AN: Hello! This is the first chapter of something I hope turns out successful. Updates will be slow, so bear with me~_ **


	2. Childhood Reminiscence

Childhood Reminiscence

The morning was long. The morning was slow. The morning was beginning, and a young boy, named Arthur, had curled himself up in his bed upon anticipating the oncoming morning. The next day was going to be amazing, and he wanted to wake early.

The morning sun glistened through the windows and clouded the inside of the young boy's eyelids with warm yellow. At first, he welcomed the warm light, and grinned under the sun's happy kiss. Then, as the minutes progressed, realisation struck him. He began to remember the importance of this day, which fueled him to refuse it, simply out of too much eager anticipation. The Brit fidgeted in his bed until he was lying flat against it, yanked a blanket over his head, and peered through a small hole in the smooth fabric. He heard someone walking towards his bedroom, and soft footsteps intensifying as they neared closer.

"Arthur!" Bellowed a deep voice from just behind the boy's door.

The shout elicited a squeak from the boy; he clapped his hands over his mouth and shrunk deeper into his cushioned bed.

There was another shout, and then the door swung open. The father marched in, his feet vibrating against Arthur's floor and bed. "Ye little monster! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" the voice hollered.

Arthur scrunched up his nose and covered his little face with his baby soft hands. "No! I'm innocent!" he squeaked.

"_Raawr_! Hungry! I need yummy boy flesh!" roared the father as he reached down and caught at his boy's waist. His hands slid to Arthur's stomach, and he began to squeeze at Arthur's velvet-soft flesh.

The boy exploded in a fit of laughter and squirmed under the man's hands. Then, the man then began to lift him up by his armpits, exposing his young son. The boy's green eyes glittered in the morning sun, his yellowing locks swirling around his head, forming a halo-like grace that invoked an angelic-like quality. Arthur welcomed his father with a wide hug, and he complied, gently hugging the younger male in return.

"Ye little yob!" he exclaimed as he raised his son higher and blew into his bellybutton, shortly after engaging in the heartfelt hug.

Arthur jerked this way and that as he laughed, until his father finally lowered him back onto his bed. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grinned up at his father. "Oh, daddy, you almost suffocated me!" he exclaimed.

His father sat down next to him, making the bed sink towards him. "But I didn't, did I?" he asked, ruffling up Arthur's straw-like hair.

Arthur giggled as he flattened his hair back out to its previously fuzzy state, gazing into his father's chestnut-coloured eyes as he did so. "No, not really… Oh! Are we going on a trip today, daddy? Just the two of us?" he asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up with uncontained exhilaration. His father stood and bent down on one knee, letting Arthur climb onto his back.

"Aye, just the two of us." He confirmed as he hoisted Arthur onto his back.

Arthur's eyes grew wide at the new information. He gingerly placed a foot on his father's hand, then settled himself on the man's broad shoulders. "Al ain't coming with us, or Pat? Nobody?" he asked.

"That's right." Arthur's father confirmed as he carried his boy down the rickety stairs and into the lower portions of the house. The windows blocked out some of the sunlight, and it began to wither down to a more favored quantity; that was very different from Arthur's eye-watering pure light source. Arthur's father carried him all the way to the dining room, where there sat a long, mahogany table. The table hosted four people; there was Arthur's mother, dressed in a stained apron, her beautiful blond hair tied up in a tight bun. Then, there was Allistor seated next to her, with the cockiest of faces Arthur had ever known, with hair so red Arthur was sure nothing challenged its unmanned glory. Second was William, who was the only one out of the three that was kind and patient enough not to be excessively mean or annoying. Lastly, there was Patrick, the loudest out of the four brothers. He sat across from Allistor, grinning practically at anything and everything. They all turned to the two new arrivals, except Allistor, who did it more subtly to truly express his indifference.

Arthur's dad set him down at the esteemed front of the table, where he could sneer, simper, and boast at the others about how spoiled he was. His father sat down next to him, with a small complaining creak from the wooden chair.

"And what are you two doing today?" his mother chimed as she handed Arthur a fork.

Arthur leaned across the table as he reached for the butter. "Daddy is taking me on his ship t'day." He replied, smiling up at his brother's shocked faces. The statement came as an accomplishment in the form of a stout and pride boy. He truly considered this something of a gift or a dream. Arthur was honored to have the opportunity to see what had taken up all of daddy's free time over the month, and he was eager to be able to reminisce about it in the future.

His mother sighed heavily and placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Albert, you can't take him alone, and you know that. The ship's a dangerous place for a little boy!" she chastised, moving her hands to her son's shoulders. She squeezed them gently as she gazed down at her little boy, frowning worriedly. Arthur regarded mother with a little smile, then turned to his brothers, huffing as they all conversed amongst each other, no doubt agreeing to his mother's plan of keeping him locked up his entire life.

"Madalyn, everything will be fine. Arthur hasn't gotten to see her yet, so I'm simply letting him come on board and visit her. Once. And then he can go back to being your precious son, alright? Is that fair enough for you?" Albert asked, rubbing his son's spaghetti arm. Arthur scoffed and squirmed away from his parents, refusing to be some little toy to them and their grubby hands.

"You're really taking him? At least let me come along too, poppa, because I actually _know_ how to mind my manners. Not like Artie, who just sits there and complains all day." Piped William, the second oldest brother. Arthur stuck out his nose and removed his arms from the table, glaring at William in particular. "I know me mannerisms!" he exclaimed, much to his parents' enjoyment. "It's 'my,' honey, not 'me.'" Madalyn corrected as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the boy's cheek. Albert simply bellowed with laugher and brought his son closer to his side. "A true pirate doesn't speak all formal-like, Maddie. They speak the way man was meant to speak: nice and simple. Isn't that right, Arthur?" he asked, looking back down at his son. Arthur nodded happily and smirked at his brothers as Albert ruffled up his hair.

Then, the red-haired boy nearest Arthur leaned closer. Arthur leaned away and sneered at his eldest brother, not enjoying the look the boy was giving him. "I think you should at least take me with you, old man. I don't think you'll be able to handle this one all on your own." He recommended, much to Arthur's dismay. "Let me go, too!" exclaimed Arthur's third brother, Patrick, his freckled face brightening with an assertive grin.

Albert shook his head at all of their attempts to dissuade him from spending alone time with his youngest son. He patted Arthur on the back as the boy ate, who swung his legs happily to a wonderful tune in his head. He watched as his brothers argued in fruitless attempts to make their father change his mind, who simply sat with his shoulders squared and his voice flattened to the most boring of all of his scolding voices. He replied in ways that Arthur associated to reprimanding, and wondered if his brothers could actually be scolded for trying to intervene where they weren't wanted. He poked at his eggs, took a bite, then turned to his mother, who simply sat back and watched with revolt as her sons quarreled.

Arthur finished his plate of food a few minutes later, while his brothers halted their argument to finish breakfast in peace. Albert raised from his seat and lifted Arthur by his armpits onto his back as soon as he was don eating. Arthur wrapped his arms securely around his father's neck and pressed his lips against his father's hair to conceal a broad grin. "Well, we'll be off, then. Expect us home late." Albert stated, his eyes sweeping across the rest of his family. "No its, ands, or buts about it. Arthur and I are gong alone, and I want you all to stay here. Understood?" he asked.

Allistor pressed his lips tightly together and nodded as the other two boys hesitated for replies. Right away Arthur could tell his other two brothers were not going to listen to his father, and a sinking feeling found its way into his heart. Relying on past experiences, Arthur calculated that there was just no way he could get alone time with his father.

"I'll make sure they stay here, Artie. Don't worry about a thing, because mommy will make sure you get your time with daddy." Madalyn assured, reaching over for one of Arthur's shoes. She squeezed Arthur's leg gently then let go, setting her arms akimbo. "That means you three, boys. Especially you, Allistor. I know how you can get, and I expect you all to behave yourselves today! Don't even think of going near daddy's ship, because it's not happening." She scolded, clearly with a new change of heart for her son.

Albert reached over and planted a chaste kiss on Madelyn's cheek as he passed to the door. "Good-bye, all of you. We'll be back again later!" he called one last time, then walked to the door and swung it open, exposing the crepuscular morning. Over the years, the Kirklands grew to Albert's strange habit of arriving home extremely early in the morning. After several months of the father being home, the rest of the family began to pick up on the strange habit. None of them were bothered by the fact that they woke before the sun, and Arthur actually welcomed the new skill. He smiled at the welcoming morning and stretched his arms out over his head, watching the sun as the first rays began to rise over the horizon. Albert looked up at Arthur and grinned, making his heart gush with joy.

Albert chuckled and stepped forward. "Let us make haste!" he barked, then began to walk down the street towards the market, where Albert's ship would no doubt be only a few ore blocks away.

Arthur always enjoyed living in Great Britain, especially because of how big it was. To him, it was perfect, with friendly neighbours and a great, big harbour. It was a lively place with ships coming and going through all hours of the day. There was even a market for trading and selling goods, which was open no matter the weather. And the weather… Arthur played in the rain constantly, always bringing a brother with him so he wouldn't get in trouble. The brother would often tag along as Arthur travelled to the harbour and to friends' house, often returning home at the end of the day with a bag full of treats and the beginning of a cold. Arthur _did_ often contract the flu or a cold soon after his exploits, making his parents coddle over his health. If his father wasn't sailing on his ship, he was at home taking care of his children like a wholesome father, reading Arthur bed time stories and taking the boys on trips to the market… it was wonderful.

And this time, Arthur and his father were taking a trip, just the two of them, and Arthur was lavishing the time spent with his father. Arthur's father placed him on his feet as they reached the end of the street and towards the market. Arthur swung his arms as they walked and gazed up at his father every now and then. His mother and father were both very attractive people, and Arthur wished that he could one day grow up to have fine hair like his father's or normal eyebrows like his mother. Albert looked down at him and smiled, squeezing his son's small hand. He led Arthur towards the market and began to hum to himself as the crowds began to thicken and stalls began to open. Arthur drew in closer to his father's side as people swarmed on either side of him, invoking a feeling of intimidation in the little boy. He was too short to be noticed by most of the passersby, which further intimidated him, especially the more dramatic characters that passed by.

"Oi! You're squeezing me hand too tight, lil' boy!" Arthur's father advised.

Arthur simply grunted and squeezed his father's hand tighter. "I know it doesn't hurt! Stop lying!" he complained with strong, unwavering confidence.

Albert chuckled and turned to face his son, his brown eyes gleaming mischievously. "You're a good boy, Arthur. You don't have to fear people." He muttered gently.

Arthur's emerald eyes widened in astonishment. Was he really that easy to read? He began to stutter like a fool as his father led him through the market. "Wh-what… I'm not scared of people!" he shouted, looking back up at his father.

"You aren't, are ye now?" chortled Arthur's father, swinging Arthur's arm forward. Arthur nodded his head as he intently looked up at his father, a sentence forming in his mind.

Arthur began to speak, but then his head collided with something distinctly blue and soft. For a moment, everything slowed. Arthur had no idea what had happened; then, after registering the smell of roses, Arthur's cheeks burst in a fury of red. "Frog!" he squeaked, pushing the other boy's chest away from him. The Frenchman looked down and smiled comfortably. The face was unmistakably Francis's, with violet eyes, blond, curly hair… and those clothes! It always looked like that boy was set on looking like a girl, with bows, strings, and long "shirts," as Francis claimed.

"Bonjour, mon petit ami." Francis greeted, offering a hand to the younger boy.

Arthur sneered at the hand offered to him and pressed himself closer against his father's side, ignoring the comforting gesture of his father's hand atop his head.

"Good morning, Francis." Albert greeted, beaming at the wavy-haired boy.

Francis bent down slightly to meet Arthur's stubby stature and offered his hand once more. But the Brit simply grimaced and constantly moved away from the Frenchman's grimy hands. Albert chortled and patted his son gently on the back, even going so far as to smile at Francis in the process. Arthur's cheeks brightened under the eyes of so many strangers watching the scene playing out around him.

"Artie! Stop being so shy and say hello!" Albert insisted, nudging the younger boy towards Francis.

Arthur, despite the enthusiasm from his father, pressed his fingers against his father's and shrunk away from the taller boy. "Wank off, ya bloody frog." He grumbled, burying his face against his father's leg.

Francis's innocent face grew wide with realization. Was it _cute_ to him to be called such names? Was the man not right in the head? He giggled gently and reached for Arthur's stomach, then began to tickle the boy, especially under the armpits. "Il est tellement mignon~" he mused, resulting in breathless chortles from the Britton. Despite being extremely ticklish and laughing until breathless, Arthur was enjoying the attention. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears came, making him exhausted and beg for oxygen. Then, as if God himself was there to save the poor boy from being tickled to death, he was lifted from the evil Frenchman's hands and perched once more on his father's shoulders. He was both amazed and grateful to his savior for preventing Francis from continuing on his foul ways.

"We're on a tight schedule today, Francis. If you want to spend more time with me boy you can come with, but we're going right now either way." Albert stated seriously, looking down at the younger French boy. Francis smirked pleasantly at Arthur, and then nodded to his father. "Oui, I'd _love_ to go." He mused, much to Arthur's revulsion.

Albert turned on his heel and began walking, humming a sea chantey as they made their way to Albert's ship. Francis was all but swaying his hips as he waked, plenty exuberant to take the trip with the two Kirklands to Arthur's father's ship.

Arthur sneaked peeks at the blonde as they travelled farther down the path to the harbour, and watched very closely at how the Frenchman walked and hummed, or kept his arms held behind his back. He was… so happy, and for no apparent reason, and he was everything Arthur wasn't- he was mature, friendly, good-looking…. It seemed unfair to Arthur when he saw people like the frog who were beloved by all. What was so great about him anyways? _One day_, Arthur told himself, _I'll be twice the man he is, and people will grow up to love me. And I won't wear dresses like weird wankers_.

Then, Francis glanced over and smiled at Arthur. The smile was so welcoming and happy, and it made Arthur blush furiously. To conceal his embarrassment, the little Brit pushed his head into his father's hair and wrapped his arms around his father's neck. His father smelled primarily of the sea, with trace bits of rum and spices. Whenever a zephyr passed by, Arthur would sneeze, and Albert would pat him on the back to pacify him.

Francis also instigated a short conversation with Arthur's father, mostly talking about what he was doing with his family, as they walked. "I'm learning a lot from my mother," Francis informed, swinging his arms as he walked, "I'm cooking a lot now." he informed. Bloody cooking… who cooked anymore anyways? Cooking was meager compared to nautical explorations!

"So what has your father been doing?" Albert asked, much to Arthur's distaste.

"He's still traveling. I hope to see him again soon, though." Francis replied with a less than hopeful voice.

"Well, as long as he's gone, you can spend your time with us." Albert offered. Arthur could tell just by the warmth in his voice that he was sincere, and that he truly meant what he said. Arthur's heart swelled with regret knowing he was being such an arse to a boy that barely had a father of his own.

Francis and Albert finished up their conversation quickly, mostly due to the fact that Albert could talk his way through any situation, and speaking about parental issues was not one of his strong points. Both he and Arthur knew to stay away from talking about those sort of things, especially when they could bring up painful memories for one of the people in the conversation. Thankfully, Francis soon lost interest, as most young children did, and pleasantly excused himself to go on ahead towards the ship.

Arthur's father began to slow to a stop, and Arthur had the audacity to poke his head out from his hiding place and have a look around. The first thing Arthur noticed was the ocean, and the smell. The smell hit him strong, and he sneezed so hard he could still feel it in his nose. The reason for this was the high concentration of sea salt, something Arthur had never had the chance of encountering before. Arthur had never been to the harbour before either. As Arthur's mother put it, he was too young, and she didn't want her youngest son "so soon lost to the sea." The second the Britton was freed from the sneeze, he opened his eyes again and had a look around.

The harbour was an entirely new world to Arthur. The place greeted him with colorful spices, sodden wood floors, ocean spray, and ships _everywhere_. People constantly passed by Albert, often with a box or some other item in hand. Others donned guns and swords like true pirates. Tall ships, small ships, ships with and with_out_ sails… every ship Arthur could imagine littered the parameter. Yet, one ship in particular caught the young boy's eye. Past the people rushing hither and thither, Arthur could make out the large vessel proudly perched at the edge of the dock.

That was when Arthur's eyes first set themselves on that illustrious ship. The sails shone proudly in the morning sun, the black sails painted a fine gray in the sunlight. She was made primarily from wood, and what Arthur could see from the wooden structure looked mostly made from oak. The hull was guarded with thick sheets of metal that complimented the rest of the ship, which was decorated in ropes, cannons, sails, and other objects.

"Ya see that?" Barked Albert, as he pointed to the figurehead of the ship, which happened to be a very statuesque mermaid, "that was carved from a tree wider than five o' me put together." He boasted, grinning foolishly. "And those sails? Made from jaguars I wrestled meeself." He determined.

While Arthur attempted to picture gigantic trees and fathers wrestling big cats, Francis skipped towards the gigantic ship. Albert kneeled down and placed Arthur in front of the thing, smiling in obvious acceptance. At first, Arthur squirmed away, refusing to even consider walking towards that monstrous ship. Albert gently nudged him forward, and Arthur took the big step onto the ship.

He immediately glanced down, half-expecting the floor to fall out from underneath him. He turned to his father as a small squeak made it through his throat, and he reached for the man's hand. The sun shone on Albert's face, his soft caramel skin bathed in sunlight. He grinned at Arthur, and obligingly took his son's hand. He squeezed his hand gently, and even let Arthur press against his leg. Arthur felt much better this way, especially by his father's soothing words: "Don't worry, Arthur, I'm the captain of this ship. Nothing can touch you here." He guaranteed.

Albert then led Arthur farther onto the ship, Arthur's keen eyes watching every sailor that passed by him. Albert stopped at the wheel of his ship then abruptly let go of the little boy's hand. "This is Merry. You're going to get very accommodated with her over the next few days." He informed.

Arthur snorted, and glared at the deck of the ship as if it was a demon that needed to be vanquished. "And it won't sink?" he asked, looking back at his father for confirmation.

Albert chuckled at his son. "No, of course not! She's completely seaworthy! In fact, I'll prove it to you." he bellowed, then let his voice drop to a spirited whisper.

The man's little son's face drained with terror. He paled, too, almost as white as the imminent clouds in the sky. Bloody hell, they were sailing. "Y-you mean… are we _sailing_?" the word was almost caught in his throat, and he squeaked at the end of the sentence, unable to quench his insatiable fright.

Albert merely shrugged, and patted Arthur gently on the back. "Look, nothing bad has happened yet…" he pointed out, even going so far as to smile when a very dangerous-looking pirate approached them.

The man, with his hair strapped in a bandana and a sword at his waist, looked quite surprised when he found the captain Kirkland entertaining two young boys, but stepped forward either way, "Captain, why we be sailing? We weren't due to sail till t'morrow." He theorized, keeping his eyes on Albert.

Albert nodded in confirmation. "Aye, this time we're just going out for a short sail. Only take us to the coast, aye?" he asked, then patted the wheel, indicating the young sailor should take hold. The young man looked surprised, and continued to glance back at the boys, even as Albert began to drag them through the ship and begin a tour.

He showed Arthur the masts, the bowsprit, and the inside of the ship. The only problem with his tour was that Arthur was too young to climb, and too wary to go into the inside of the ship.

After the ship had gained a good amount of speed, Albert brought his son back to the wheel. "C'mon, boy. Have yer look 'round." He cajoled, lifting Arthur higher to get a better view of the sea. "C'mon, Johnny Boy, Put a little authority into your sailing. It won't hurt." Albert whispered as Arthur enjoyed himself watching the sea breeze by.

When Arthur got home, he was exhausted. The trip home had taken the last of the energy out of him, not to mention his running around the ship and arguing with a certain Frenchman on his way back home had exhausted him near completion. His father carried him up the stairs and to his room as mom chastised them for being home so late.

"You better come down for dinner!" Madelyn shouted from downstairs as Albert tucked him into bed.

Arthur was breathless, panting for air, as he gazed up at his father and smiled. "That was fun, daddy." His voice dwindled down to a whisper in his tired state, and he simply tugged the blanket closer, despite yearning to give his father a little bear hug.

Albert leaned closer and pressed an ocean-scented kiss on his son's forehead. "Aye, and when I return we can sail again, okay?" he asked, leaning back to smile at his son's face. Arthur envied that happy look, and coveted his father's way with words. Albert patted his boy one more time, blew out the candle, then headed out the door, passing by Madelyn as he did so. Madelyn peeked into the room, but simply closed the door to give Arthur his privacy.

Arthur grinned at himself in the dark, gushing over his apparent victory today. The ship's ride was amazing, and after returning home he had the permanent smell of the ocean still on his clothing. His father taught him things he thought he'd never learn, and he saw things he thought he'd never get to see. He rested his weary head and closed his eyes, smiling as he slept.

That was the day Arthur knew he wanted to be a pirate.

* * *

_**AN: Arthur's brothers are, as follows by age, Scotland (Allistor), Wales (William), and Northern Ireland (Patrick). Most argue whether or not Australia should be England's relative, but I've decided not to add that in there just to be safe. And, after asking Wikipedia, it said Australia and New Zealand both consider England their "big brother," thus they probably wouldn't be around in this time period. Wy and Sealand would also be too young to be born yet, so they're not included in here.**_


	3. Unwanted Confrontations

Unwanted Confrontations

Waking the next morning proved to be more difficult than Arthur first conceived. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, as he began to stir. Judging from the light seeping in front his one and only window, Arthur's day had already started a few hours ago. No one had yet to come in and wake him, thus all he could do was be patient and wait until one of the lazy arses finally _did_ come to wake him; or, of course, he could go the more preferable route and get out on his own, which would be no harder than counting to ten.

The bed was comfortable, but didn't provide the British pirate with all of his necessities. The space was much too crowded for him, albeit the fact that he was supplied with a window made to deceive Arthur and think his room was bigger than it was. The captain deserved bigger, more opulent, living conditions, not this, which he would barely spare a second glance at. He rose from the generously provided cotton bed, and stretched his arms over his head, popping out a few knots that hadn't been there the day prior. It was getting hot out, and if Arthur's navigational skills were any inclination, they were probably sailing by the Caribbean. He was already a ways away from home as it was, but now it would take at least a day or so's trek to get back to his predetermined course. That is, if he was to get back on his own ship, which he knew wouldn't happen.

Arthur stood, albeit carefully, and made his way over to his chamber's door, creeping across the floor. He pressed an ear against the rough wood in an attempt to hear something, but all he heard was the shuffle of the pirates' boots against the deck of the ship and the groaning of the ship as it soared across the waves. The pirates were awake, so why was he still here? He knew pirates couldn't be trusted, but still, he expected a little more respect, even if it was from a no-good, lying, scheming American pirate.

Arthur detached his head from the door and inspected the lock, cocking his head to the side like a curious child examining a toy. Without a lock or doorknob, the door was relatively bare, excluding the tiny keyhole engraved into the front of the door. Arthur lifted a finger and picked at it, conjecturing how big the hole was and if there was any way he could pick his way out of this bloody room.

The Captain Kirkland searched through his person for any item that may be of use to him, now that he knew the lock needed a pick. Luckily for the bloody gits that imprisoned him here that he happened not to have any useable weapons with him; well, that Arthur could see of. The American had taken his sword and deposited it who-knows-where, and the Brit happened not to have his other swords or guns on him after dropping his hat and coat while climbing down from the American's bloody confusing ship. There was still one chance, though, and Arthur was going to use it.

Arthur gingerly placed himself on the floor and stuck out his boot, then began meticulously untying the laces on it, his sly fingers working the knots out effortlessly. When the laces were undone, Arthur pulled the left boot off with one jerk of his hand, then placed it on the damp floor beside himself.

Wrapped around Arthur's ankle was a bandage, generously thick and stained with blood. The naturally white bandage had darkened with age and had been painted in dark red around the corner of Arthur's ankle. Arthur placed his gloved hands on the wound and began to unwrap it, revealing the bloody cut. He dismissed the healing mess for the bandages, where he unravelled a small but appropriate dagger. He then efficiently wrapped his ankle back up, albeit with a little, painful scowl.

The dagger the Brit hid inside his bandages was a little more than a thin strip of metal. It was the perfect trick, really-just hide the weapon where no one would suspect, especially considering how bad-looking the wound looked. Anyone who searched his person would think the thick bandages were appropriate, and would want to wrap Arthur's ugly wound up rather quickly, neglecting to notice anything Arthur might've hidden in his bandages.

Arthur slid his boot back on, tied the laces back up, stood on his feet, and then made his way to the door, carrying a new caution for his ankle. The Brit grumbled things as he worked the lock free with his small dagger, although it was difficult to use his fingers in such awkward ways, even if he was a master at using his fingers. When the door unlocked with a satisfied click, Arthur slowly pushed it open and took a peek outside.

The darkness was the first thing that greeted Arthur. Its intensity, especially, surprised him. Arthur suspected he'd never adapt to the darkness of the underbellies of ships. They were always dim, smelled of the sea, and were extremely cramped. Arthur made a quick observation of what he was up for, spotting crates and barrels stacked against the walls of the ship. He also noticed some men doing maintenance on the ship's cannons, and there were barrels, shelves with belongings on them, such as guns and knives, filling Arthur's surroundings. Arthur slid the door silently shut, not wanting to draw attention to the door, and painted a picture in his mind of what he remembered seeing and considering what could be useful to him.

Arthur pressed a hand against the door as he began to conjure up a plan of some sort. When he was looking around, there were no doubt plenty of places to hide. The Brit checked himself over once for any loose articles of clothing or hanging pieces of fabric that might get caught on a barrel or crate. Alter finding nothing but a bandana, the Brit jerked it from his waist and methodically tied it as a band around his mop of disheveled hair.

The Brit returned to the door and peeked out once again. There was nothing new: the same pirates lumbered about the lower decks of the ship, mostly engaging with each other in idle chatter, the same sloshing of the ship against the mighty sea. This would be a piece of cake.

Arthur slid from his jail and crept against the walls of the ship, his feet scudding uneasily against the floor. How dare his anticipation show itself now... he pressed his body tightly against the wall as he kept going, hearing muttering voices grow nearer. No doubt the bloody wankers' eyesight was terrible, but there was no way they were simply going to ignore a complete human being in such close quarters. The Brit hurriedly began searching for somewhere else to hide as voices began to crowd closer towards him.

"Aye, 'tis a pity. I'd nevah seen the cap's in worse shape, I 'aven't." piped the first pirate, no doubt with an inexplicable twang to his voice. Arthur could already picture the sailor with a dusty disposition and deep-set eyes.

"I already be hearin' stories that the Great Cap'n Kirkland cursed 'im 'imeslf." The other bellowed, his voice reverberating off the mighty ship's walls.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the pirate's words. Even without touching the captain it seemed he still managed to make his mark on the man. Arthur's reputation had indeed grown to accommodate the ludicrous assumption that he was a magician of sorts, all because of his innate ability to move around rather swiftly, and his admittedly large collection of witchcraft tomes. Yet, even with these terrible rumours, at least Arthur's reputation was growing, and he hoped the sailors on board this ship would soon understand that he was more dangerous than their sissy captain. Arthur's eyes grazed by a barrel seated not too far away behind him, which he considered as a prime potential hiding spot. He inched back as the men's conversation continued:

There was a hearty chortle from the other pirate, then silence of their boots against the wooden floor. "Stories. Stories is all, to keep the rest o'us workin' an' on 'r toes!" the other insisted.

That was admittedly true, although Arthur preferred the other option much more. He'd give his soul to Satan himself if it meant he could curse his adversaries, or even better, kill them for good. Taking another step back, Arthur slid into his hiding spot behind a barrel, crouched down and smirking knowing he was a good distance away from the sailors.

The two men were now eerily silent, and Arthur panicked, wondering if they found him and were now contemplating their next course of action. But then there was a jingle, and the turn of a key in a lock. Oh, they were just opening Arthur's cell.

Then, something dropped in Arthur's stomach. They were opening his cell. And when they realized he wasn't there, they were going to look for him.

"Hm? Door's al'rdy open?" mumbled the first man in a completely bewildered tone.

Arthur crouched down and scowled at the two wankers as they stood, dumbfounded, and tried to figure out what was going on.

"I'll stay 'ere an' guard the keys. Ye can go on 'head an' check the prisoner." The first stated, keeping himself stationed at the front of the door. The other crept his way into the chamber, his hand readied at his side to unsheathe his sword at any given time.

The pirate captain chuckled quietly, thinking of how stupid these men were sneaking around all for nothing. Didn't they know there was no use trying to go around him? He slowly crept his way to the entrance of his holding cell, greeting a stranger in the dark. The man's brown face was painted in shadows, and his eyes lit up in astonishment as Arthur lunged forward, and tackled the slightly taller man to the ground. The man shouted, practically squealed, directly in Arthur's ear. Relieved not to be the one shoved against the floor, Arthur scowled, pressing his weight against the stranger's chest. He could tell the man was having issues breathing considering Arthur was pressing directly on his chest. Arthur leaned forward as the other and grunted, attempting to shove Arthur off of him. Arthur leaned back, then raised his fist and walloped the other pirate right on the head.

"Hey! What's goin' on?!" the other pirate shouted, rushing over to the scene. Arthur turned to the man as he shook his pounding hand, scowling unhappily. Finding one's unconscious pirate buddy straddled by the Great Captain Kirkland couldn't possibly be a very good image to have in the head. Arthur reached over and jerked the unconscious pirate's sword from its sheath, then stood to his feet and swung the sword towards his new adversary. The imbecile took a defiant step forward, as if he thought he could handle a confrontation with one of the best-known pirates in the seven seas.

Arthur chuckled bitterly. "Are you serious? You want to fight _me_?" he asked with another chuckle, "You can't fight me. You're nothing to me," he stated with a smirk. The man merely frowned as Arthur stepped forward and clutched at the other man's sword. Arthur jerked at it, but the man just wouldn't let go, so he jerked at the sword again, with the pirate in tow. He socked this man as well, and did so repeatedly until the stranger finally passed out. Arthur placed one sword into the sheath that was usually reserved for his precious, then tucked the other one under his arm as he dragged the two men into his old jail. He stole the men's keys, slightly disappointed when he found that there were only two-three keys on the chain. He stepped out and locked the door, then looked around at his new surroundings, now that he was able to get a better look around.

Bloody hell, it was too early for any of this. Arthur's hand throbbed as he walked, and he held it lightly at his side, not wanting to worsen his pain any further. He progressed farther into the ship until he was standing in the crew's quarters, surrounded by few other seafaring men. No doubt they took shifts tending to the various ship's needs. He walked past the sailors-many dozing but some awake-as he made his way to the hatch.

With a strong shove, captain Kirkland found himself with an open hatch and a sore arm. He hoisted himself onto the deck of the ship, the ocean greeting him with a gentle breeze. Thank goodness, he could _breathe _again, for god's sake! Arthur took a moment to savour the feeling of being completely free of his jail down below, taking in a few breaths of the salty sea. He must've looked pretty ridiculous just standing on the middle of the ship with his eyes closed.

The men around Arthur either hadn't noticed his presence yet or just didn't give a damn. Arthur knew how that felt, to be completely exhausted, and work just as an old sea dog would.

Yet, Arthur's next plan of action was not to assist the other sailors with their chores. It was to get to the captain. Arthur considered breaking into the captain's quarters, but it couldn't possibly be that easy, could it? He chuckled at the thought-breaking into Arthur's quarters would result in one hell of a punishment. Men lost their heads if they took just one step into the Brit's private quarters, although here Arthur already established the fact that rules here were very different from his own ship. Arthur meandered his way towards the front of the ship, turning his head to examine the captain's cabin. The moment Arthur turned his head, he heard a voice behind him.

"Hey! What're you doing out?" the distinguished voice pierced the Brit's ears, and his eyebrows miraculously crawled downwards on his face. He turned to greet Donney, renewed with a vigor fed by complete hatred for the renegade. The brown-haired individual didn't smile as he trotted over, a hand readied at his side.

That stern-faced, arrogant, no-good traitor was beginning to get on Arthur's nerves. Donney's only purpose in life wasn't supposed to be to constantly aggravate Arthur, but as it seemed now Arthur was sure that was the only thing the sailor was good at doing. Arthur squeezed the sword at his left hand's disposal, and stared icily at the man before him.

"I'm not leaving." He stubbornly informed with the audacity of a child.

Donney chuckled, his voice bellowing over the desk of Alfred's ship. "I know you're not. Not by yourself, anyways." He stated with a wry smirk.

Arthur scowled at the man-he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't like whatever plan Donney was concocting or simply because Arthur's intuition was telling him he wasn't supposed to like this man. Donney called several men over, all of which were dark-skinned burly men. Arthur raised his sword in trepidation as one of the taller men neared him, the other man's height dwarfing Arthur's own. Yet he wasn't afraid. He wouldn't let this stupid American's _slaves_ get the best of him.

"Tip him over the edge, aye? Show him a fun ride." Donney stated, making Arthur grind his teeth in annoyance at the past sailor. Donney would regret this, Arthur promised!

Two of the sailors advanced towards Arthur, one even going so far as to reach for Arthur's wrist. Arthur raised his sword and slashed at the man's arm, yet the man quickly grabbed his wrist, and Arthur found that his wrist was trapped by this man's incredible strength. Then, before Arthur could even defend himself, another man caught at Arthur's other wrist, and he realised he could not move his arms. Arthur struggled against the men's grasps as hands reached for him and began to hoist him over the edge of the ship.

Arthur kicked his legs like he did when he was a child, shouting profanities as the men held him by his arms and legs and turned him upside-down, then lowered him back down, holding him by his feet. Arthur's ankle burned, and he bit his lip to silence himself from complaining any further than he already was.

The blood rushed to Arthur's head, and he closed his eyes as nauseating sickness plagued him. Arthur loved sailing, and loved the ocean, but he did not want to be dropped into it. Arthur gut twisted as he felt the waves brush against the top of his head, and he was pretty sure that if he had eaten lunch he would've lost it by now.

Voices spoke above Arthur's head, and Arthur squirmed as he tried to escape the waves swarming around him. The waves were closing in, Arthur thought, as the hands around his ankles loosened and the voices above him died away. The waves grew louder, and Arthur could visualize the waves washing over him, swallowing him under their strong hold, forcing Arthur to the fathomless bottoms of the sea, to drown in eternal darkness...

"Captain Kirkland! Captain Kirkland! Wake up!" a voice pulled Arthur back from the void, and the first sense that returned to Arthur as he awoke from his unconsciousness was his scent. The ocean attacked his nostrils, and he shot up from his spot on the floor, soon bending over the edge of the ship. Arthur vomited, his body trembling with dreadful moans as he regurgitated everything that happened to be in his stomach.

Arthur wiped the vomit from his mouth and peeked behind his shoulder at the terrible men who did this to him. "Hello, Captain Kirkland." Chirped a voice that was neither Alfred's nor Donney's. Arthur switched his gaze to the man standing next to Donney, a kind-looking fellow with a friendly smile and the brightest brown eyes Arthur had ever seen. The boy was young, with black, short hair, a smudge on his cheek, and clothing that defined him perfectly as a sailor. Upon seeing the stranger's happy expression, Arthur turned and heaved into the ocean again.

"Oh no, sir, are you ill?" the man asked, and hurried to Arthur's side. What a bloody idiot. "Naye, I am fine." Arthur assured, slouching slightly, as he reassured the stranger of this _fact_.

"But... sir, you're-"

"I am _fine_!" Arthur chastised, slapping his hand down on the railing of the ship.

The pirate jumped back in what Arthur supposed could be considered astonishment. "Okay, okay!" he exclaimed right back. He hesitated, then took another step once again towards Arthur. "I am Johnson. It's nice to meet you." He informed, offering a hand.

Arthur flippantly ignored it, and focused on Donney instead. "That's a bloody terrible joke you pulled, you bloody wanker." He grumbled, still wiping at his mouth in an attempt to remove the foul taste from his mouth.

Donney simply smiled in response, obviously enjoying Arthur's foul mood. "I apologise if I misled you, Kirkland. I never intended to actually _drop_ you or anything. You're much too precious for that. We can't chance losing such precious cargo." He explained.

Ah, of course. _Precious cargo_. Well, Arthur knew that the second they hit land he was going to be turned over to some demon of a man that would probably throw him in jail for the rest of his life. The realisation struck Arthur that if he was required to survive this whole trip, he could get away with a whole bloody lot without any extreme punishments. Arthur considered the punishment he'd seen so far on the ship and concluded that he could risk committing at least a few crimes on this ship, especially if it meant it'd be his last real chance to have some fun before he was captured for good.

"Well," Arthur began, "thank you, Donney, for that. I feel reassured knowing that I am not going to die on this ship now." He replied, albeit with a bored drag to his voice.

Jonathan grinned, smiling brightly. "That's great!" he exclaimed, not taking to the obvious sarcasm in Arthur's voice. He reached for Arthur's hand, and the Brit simply stayed still as the other pirate took it and shook it. "Anyways, my condolences. Donney wasn't supposed to be treat you like that. I'm here to be something of a guardian of yours. Alfred personally chose me to look after you for now on." He said cheerily.

Arthur wondered if this was happening because he was unconscious for a very long time or if this was happening because Alfred really had the impulsive urge to have someone monitor his life 24/7. He didn't know the American pirate very well, but he knew Arthur was really beginning to dislike the voyage on this ship, and the new American captain's reputation was only worsening as the hours stretched on.

"I am very grateful for your captain's... generosity. Please tell him when you get the chance that I look forward to seeing him in the future." Arthur replied with a narrow-eyed look and a sour grimace.

Johnson then wore the sort of look people had on their faces only when they were seriously pitying somebody. "Oh... well, trust me, you'll probably see him tomorrow." He assured, then reached over and patted Arthur gently on the shoulder, as if he was genuinely concerned for the Brit. Arthur scoffed, and finally dragged his hand back from Johnson's grip.

Knowing that Arthur was going to see Alfred tomorrow was both a good thing and a bad thing. He didn't want to have to face the nagging American, and his heritage already gave Arthur a pretty good inclination of what he would face tomorrow: an annoying, immature, pirate. Yet, despite this, Arthur concluded it would be worth it if it meant he could terrorize the man a little.

Johnson cleared his throat, and Arthur snapped back out of his imagination. "Anyways, we don't want to let you get sick or anything of the like. What about I show you around? You know, get your look of the place?" he asked with one of the most innocent smiles in the world. Arthur didn't understand how this man could ever be a pirate with that sort of wholesome innocence. This man was the definition of "romantic piracy," the sort of pirates that apparently just sailed ships and worked on the ship as an "extra hand."

Arthur smiled back at the boy, taking his arm and pulling him away from Donney. "You don't say? Well, that just sounds splendid. You just _have_ to show me around." He mused, then babbled on as he continued to wander away from Donney, just wanting to escape from the shite for a short while. Jonathan smiled and nodded in agreement, responding with little babbles of his own, and Arthur began to grow astonished that his method of distraction was actually working.

"Oh, yes, there's an infirmary, if you're interested in treatin' that stomach issue of yers, or we could go and catch some grub. Oh! I could also show you to our quarters, if you want." Johnson informed, overjoying with eagerness to have the opportunity to speak with _the_ Arthur Kirkland. With the mention of "grub," as Johnson called it, Arthur sighed contently. Food didn't sound all that bad, and alcohol to boot would just be _fantastic_.

"Aye," Arthur stated, slapping Johnson on the shoulder, "that all sounds wonderful. Please, show me the way to the eating room." He replied, following the boy as he led Arthur back down into the holdings of the ship. Arthur had grown up around ships his entire life, and knew very well where everything was on _any_ ship. Yet, despite this knowledge, Arthur decided giving Johnson the chance to show him around would give him something to do, and it didn't hurt to stroke another's ego every now and then.

Johnson smiled amicably as they stepped down into the first under floor of the ship. He began to talk, excessively, and wouldn't stop. Arthur didn't mind listening to his voice, but after a while the boy's voice began to falter and Arthur realized he had been hiding (rather expertly, as Arthur may add) an accent. Johnson led Arthur through the ship, and Arthur couldn't help but think he was enjoying this little excavation.


	4. Truculent Men

Truculent Men

Arthur followed Johnson to the eating room, all the while listening to the boy as he babbled on about the ship, the different floors and rooms, and Arthur's most recently discovered favourite subject Captain Alfred F. Jones. When the first mention of Alfred arose, Arthur was quick to throw some words into the conversation.

"Oh, by the way, I was wondering if it was just me, or if he hasn't been on the deck of his own ship all day." Arthur observed, acting the part of innocent guest.

Johnson laughed in response, and Arthur wondered what could possibly be so funny about asking why his captain was such a lazy arse. "He's sick is all. This morning he woke up with a fever of one-hundred-and-one degrees, so he thought it best to stay in bed. You know how quickly fevers can spread, and he didn't want to harm any of the rest of us by stepping out of his cabin." He explained rather simply, as if the excuse was actually _believable_.

Arthur never recalled slacking off, even when he was sick. A captain was nothing without his crew, and vice versa. A crew without their captain, especially _this_ crew, would just grow to be a bunch of wayward sailors goofing off. "I for one think the wanker could work even with being sick." Arthur stated, drawing his hands to his waist.

Johnson chuckled. "Well, it's not like we're all going to die without him or something." Johnson replied with a lighthearted chuckle. Well, that was exactly what Arthur was afraid of. Who knows what a bunch of American pirates would get themselves into without some guidance? They'd make a fine mess of things, Arthur reckoned.

Johnson trailed down another flight of stairs, and Arthur obediently followed. "That may be true, but a captain is a captain. He should lead his pirates in an honorable manner, which requires him to be here, even if he is sick. He should heal quicker." Arthur stated, keeping his points short and concise. The way things were going now didn't make Arthur feel very safe on the ship, especially considering the people Alfred even allowed on the blasted thing, including pirates that probably had to be _bribed_ to work for this captain. Arthur knew that was why Donney was here. Bloody man would do anything for a good few reales and bits.

"Gee, , the way you put it you make it sound like miss him. Are you worried about him?" Johnson observed, with the sort of matter-of-fact tone Arthur had long gone grown to associate with ignorance.

Arthur couldn't help but scoff at the accusation. "I do _not_, by _any_ means, hold _any_ compassion for that free-loading, lazy-arsed, idiotic captain. I simply believe he would better benefit from this experience if he took a greater part in it." He stated, then thrust his head away, directing his eyes towards the ocean. Despite his attempt to act as if he didn't give a single damn for the American pirate, the gesture wasn't working well for Arthur's digestive tract. Arthur quickly turned his head away from the sea as his recent nausea lurched back through his stomach.

The other pirate, though, just simply scratched the side of his head. "Well, he's sick. Why would he work when he's sick? And I don't think working is going to make him feel any better." He mumbled, obviously not taken to the concept of working even if one was sick. Arthur, despite Johnson's simple words, didn't understand a lick of what he was saying.

"Well, of course a captain should work when they're sick. Who else could ever command a ship if it isn't the captain?" Arthur stated, in a fruitless attempt to defend his logic.

Johnson replied with a flippant chortle. "Wow, , you must be the really responsible sort if you don't take a break even when you're sick." He replied, then showed Arthur one of his more charming smiles.

Arthur frowned, still confused by what Johnson was saying. When he was a child, being sick never stopped him from doing what he wanted-or what he _needed_-to do. His father had taught him well enough to the point where Arthur knew you'd have to be a sissy to be bedridden just because of a little fever. But, despite Arthur's apparently different way of thinking, there was no use continuously arguing with Johnson on the subject.

After a while of silent walking, twists, and turns, Johnson stopped in what Arthur assumed was their "eating room." The place was a rather decent size for what Arthur considered a "small ship." Johnson made his way around the room as Arthur sat down, the haunting thought that the ocean would consume him still not completely wiped from his mind. He sat down with a hand on his cheek as Johnson returned with a plate full of fruits and two cups full of a brown-colored liquid.

Johnson said something with a full mouth of food, pointing to his plate and picking out a bright red apple. Arthur nodded, despite not actually listening to whatever it was Johnson was saying, then reached over and stole the apple from the other's hand, taking the biggest bite he could manage out of it. When Arthur leaned back to examine the bite he took, he was rather impressed, and smiled happily, and when he looked up to register Johnson's reaction to the bite he looked about ready to choke. Was he really _that_ surprised?

When Arthur opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by a cacophony of chortles and shouting. Arthur's eyes followed the noise to the entrance of the dining room, falling on some rather annoying men at the entrance. Arthur sighed at the men and turned back to Johnson, who was now back to speaking as much as he wanted.

"Arthur!" Johnson exclaimed, taking a deep breath, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone take such a big bite out of an apple before!" he informed, gaping at Arthur.

Arthur simply waved it off and smirked, enjoying the look on Johnson's face, although he considered the reaction odd. Eating was no big deal! "Aye, I've had a big appetite lately." He responded simply.

Johnson's eyes lit up at the word "appetite," and he began to chuckle, and Arthur was beginning to worry, wondering what could be so funny about him having a big appetite. "You should see how much Cap'n Jones can eat! He can eat _so much_! It's crazy!" Jonathan informed, grinning foolishly after his laughing bouts ended.

Arthur scoffed, tapping a finger against the table as he took another bite from his apple. "Is that so?" he asked, unable to take the other pirate too seriously. As if it mattered how much Alfred could eat!

"Aye. And I hear he never gets full." Jonathan muttered, his voice dropping as pirates made their way over to Arthur and Jonathan's table.

Despite how potential a conversation about the captain Jone's unconquerable appetite sounded, Arthur was much too busy registering all the new pirates that had appeared at their table. Arthur noticed that one of the pirates in particular, a pirate heavily tattooed and shirtless seated next to him, was having a fun time casting glares Arthur's way. Of course, Arthur was never one for staring, and simply sat with apple in hand, taking large bites from the red-skinned fruit until only the core was left, making a point of ignoring the other pirates surrounding them.

Silence slowly crawled around the patrons sitting at the wooden table. Johnson frowned worriedly, his eyebrows drawing together as he sat across from Arthur, then looked to the man next to him. Arthur didn't know about this ship, but on his ship his men didn't fight. They worked together, and if they didn't like that, they weren't welcome, although once again Arthur knew things were different here. Arthur sighed, placing the apple core next to him, failing to notice the pirate next to him that apparently considered his eating of the apple the last straw of his patience.

The man stood from his seat, shoving the table back in the process. Arthur removed his arms from the table as it screeched away from him. "What do you think you're doing here, slave?" the tattooed man asked, teeth clenched, hands curved into fists.

Captain Arthur Kirkland knew that he had killed many people in the past. It was very likely that this man was a relative of one of the deceased people Arthur had killed, or a victim of one of Arthur's past raids. He was betting on the latter. But, of course, it could also be the simple proposal that this man simply didn't like Arthur.

Arthur reached back over and placed a hand on his cheek, his gaze following the man as he stood. "I was kidnapped. Why? Is that a problem?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the wooden table, flippantly ignoring the extremely annoying insult of being called a _slave_.

The man scowled at Arthur, but Arthur simply offered a smile, keeping a hand readied at his side as the man spoke. "Aye, I believe it is a problem." He grumbled, reaching for his sword as well.

The blood rushed through Arthur's body, and the Brit wrapped a hand around his sword as he stood to his full height. The tattooed man turned his head down slightly to get a better look of Arthur, and Arthur lifted his head to meet the man's gaze, scowling back in response. It wasn't that Arthur was short, it was that everyone else was taller than average. The taller man drew his sword from its sheath, and Arthur habitually drew his sword out in response.

"You think you can defeat me?' the man asked in a deep, throaty growl.

Arthur raised his sword, resting the point of the sword on the man's chest, lowering his head as he answered back. "Maybe I do." He muttered, his serious frown soon twisting into a fiendish smirk. The pirate glanced down, his lip raised up in a pig-like scowl. The man crunched up his face, his nose wrinkled and his lips set in a sneer. Arthur rolled his eyes at the look, apparently not taking it very seriously. Arthur began secretly hoping that if the rude man held his face in the same position long enough it would be permanently stuck, and the man would have to live out the rest of his days looking as ugly as earthly possible.

The sailor took a good swing towards Arthur's waist, and Arthur knew it was about time he stop thinking and began doing. Arthur thrust his sword to meet the other man's, defending himself against the man's threatening strength. He knew this man was going to be difficult to defeat considering his strength, but no one knew a sword better than Arthur did. Arthur pressed his sword against the stronger man's sword, then jerked back as the other advanced towards.

Arthur swung his sword down as shouts began to raise all around them, and Arthur noticed that this tattooed wanker was probably planning on winning this battle by weakening Arthur's ego. Arthur chuckled at the man's ignorance, and swung his sword downwards once more, managing to slash at the man's leg. "What is your name, boy?" Arthur called, chuckling as the man bent down to seize at his bleeding leg, automatically doing the first thing one was not supposed to do in combat: lower their defenses.

The man gritted his teeth as he glared up at Arthur, clutching his sword tightly in his other hand. "That was a naughty trick, you bastard!" he exclaimed, squeezing his leg as blood trickled down his outer thigh.

Arthur lowered his sword and pressed a hand against his hip. "Tell. Me. Your. Name." he ordered in choppy statements, his emerald gaze unwavering.

"Arthur!" Johnathan shouted, rushing to Arthur's side. "Don't do this. Tim wasn't-" he began, but the second the name left the other pirate's mouth Arthur roared with laughter. "Tim! Your name is Tim, is it not? What a fine name for a dead man." He stated, narrowing his eyes at the man now slouched in front of him. "Arthur! Are you even listening to me?" Johnson whined, in an attempt to reclaim Arthur's attention. Arthur shoved his sword back into its sheath as he turned to Johnson, retaining his annoyance behind an open smile. "Yes, Johnson?" he asked.

Johnson fiddled with his fingers as he thought of something to say that could possibly dissuade this confrontation from escalating. Arthur rolled his eyes, not taking to patiently waiting for resolution to come when he would rather create a more preferable solution on his own.

Arthur waited expectantly for a reply from the newly acclaimed Tim, only to stand around waiting for the man to straighten out his stance a bit. Tim was still scowling that ugly scowl, and Arthur detested that look, beginning to wish it never existed. Tim raised his arm, and Arthur tilted his head, curiously wondering what it could possibly be that this man planned on doing. Then, Tim completely bashed the fist right into Arthur's face.

Arthur had a very short temper. He was known to be rash about decisions, and often jumped directly into messes, but there was a perfectly logical explanation for all of this: Almost all the people Arthur knew on the planet were idiots. He was a captain, and could've wasted this other seafarer in a second if it wasn't for the fact that Arthur would be punished for it. They may need him alive, but that didn't mean the pirates still couldn't have their fun with the Brit.

Arthur straightened himself back out, wiping the blood from his split bottom lip. His gaze steadied itself on Tim, and the vicious look in Arthur's eyes intensified as Tim took one dreadful step forward. The shouts and roars that were once surrounding them died down, and now there was only the deadly silence of the extremely trepidation-induced moment.

Tim reached for Arthur's shirt, and Arthur simply stayed still, even as Tim curled his fist in the man's shirt and raised him off the floor. The sensation was extremely unnerving, but Arthur held firm, refusing to allow this man to get the best of his nerves. The staring stretched on, and Arthur took great notice of the mischievous gleam in Tim's chestnut eyes as they glared at each other, exchanging unspoken threats and warnings of things to come. Eventually, Tim was the first to crack under the apprehensive atmosphere, and finally removed his hand, letting Arthur drop back onto his feet.

"Tim! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Johnson exclaimed, clasping his fists at his sides as he stood a few feet away, his face taut with distress. "I'm being a man, John. You wouldn't understand." Tim growled back, then turned and removed himself from the room, sealing his fate with a slam of the door.

Arthur chuckled as the door closed, then dropped himself back into his seat with a rather dramatic _thump_. " , are you okay?" Johnathan asked, turning his head back to Arthur.

Apart from the hammering in Arthur's head and he slight shake in his hands, Arthur was feeling perfectly splendid. He reached over and took a chug from the mystery liquid Johnson was so kind to bring over, then slammed the cup on the table as soon as he had emptied the thing. He turned to Johnson, maintaining a wonderfully calm demeanour as he spoke. "I am doing excellent, me boy. I only have one question for you: where can I find some rope?"

* * *

_**AN: I am extremely eager for the next chapter. I hope you all love it~**_


	5. Rightful Vengeance

Rightful Vengeance

Johnson's first rudimentary reaction to Arthur's question was a befuddled expression. Of course Johnson wouldn't know why Arthur wanted some rope. He was a good-natured boy, and he was probably never asked such strange questions before Arthur arrived on this ship. "Well, of course..." he replied, scratching the side of his head. "Why?" he expectantly added, frowning unhappily at Arthur's question.

Arthur stood from his seat, bringing the second cup of mystery liquid to his mouth as he did so. "Because, jolly boy, I 'ave a plan." He informed with a sly smirk, then knocked his head back and swallowed the rest of Johnson's cup of liquid. It went down with a sour taste and a lurching feeling in Arthur's stomach, a taste he had already grown to accommodate with alcohol and a feeling he had grown used to since his first nauseating confrontation with the sea.

Johnson was obviously attempting to concoct a reasonable response to Arthur's statement. His eyes followed his drink, and when Arthur drained his cup in such a short time it resulted in a long-lasting astonishment on Johnson's face. He gaped, now trying to comprehend how Arthur could drink such a spicy beverage in such a short amount of time. " ... that's... nice, n'all, but I think I should just take you back to your room." He suggested, rather delicately, Arthur would note.

What was the reason for living if one couldn't have a little fun while doing it? Arthur was not going to let Johnson get in the way of his good fun. He had just found some very good alcohol, knew there was rope on the ship to find, and best of all the burning motivation to tie that bastard Tim up and see him pay for his misdeeds! "Johnson..." Arthur began, slowly taking the step towards Johnson that would seal this deal for sure, "I am... a pirate of... _negotiation_. If there is some reason for your hesitation, I am willing to ease your worries. If you are not compiling to my decisions because has somehow bribed you into doing so, or you are afraid of facing some sort of wrath of his, I insure you, Mr..." Arthur gestured towards him and lowered his eyes, waiting patiently for Johnson's last name.

"Mister Moores." Johnson informed. Arthur nodded, and slowly began to circle Johnson as his lecture droned on. "I ensure you, Mr. Moores, that under my surveillance there is nothing can do to hurt you. I am a reasonable man, Johnson, and before my life on this earth has ended I am confident that I will be able to repay you for your actions today. That is... if you are willing to help me." He informed with a suggestive wink. Believe it or not, most sailors were open to sexual favours from the same gender. Arthur knew very well that if there wasn't a woman to shag on the open sea a man would do just as fine.

Johnson, the poor man, took Arthur's words to heart, and he fell silent as he considered the proposition. Arthur smirked happily when he envisioned the tides turning in his favour. He delivered that speech wonderfully, and with a buzz, no less!

Johnson's eyes were soon back on Arthur, and he nodded to Arthur's plans. "Okay, , I'll help you." He confirmed with a confident nod of his head.

Arthur slammed his cup back down on the table, then joyously clapped his hands together. "Come, Johnson, now we just _have_ to find some rope." He insisted, now as eager to get moving as he had been when he was an extremely young child going on an adventure.

Johnson, on the other hand, stayed put where he was, timidly refusing to follow Arthur towards the exit of the dining room. Arthur was in no mood to wait for him, but this man was the factor that determined if this plan would work or fail. "Not so fast, ." Johnson stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you plan to do with this rope?" he asked, which was the dreaded question Arthur had been hoping to lay off for later conversations.

But of course, it was a worthy question. Arthur turned back to the pirate, idly situating a hand on the sheath of his sword as he did so. "This rope... I plan to tie Tim to the main mast with it." He informed, then offered Johnson one of his more malevolent smiles. "Now, those are all the questions I'll be taking for the moment, so if you would let me continue on..." he stated, beginning to gesture to the path ahead. Johnson obediently followed to his side, then began to pass Arthur by, hoping to lead the way to the deck of the ship.

Arthur, of course, knew this plan wasn't going to work if his self-proclaimed "body guard" wasn't there to ensure the other pirates that he wasn't doing anything murderous with the rest of Alfred's crew, and grudgingly let the boy do as he wanted. The moment they actually stepped onto the deck, though, was a completely different story.

Arthur knew he was a wanted man. Right from childhood, Arthur's father had given all the other pirates out there something to worry about. He made sure to leave a legacy in his place, and Arthur was one of the best material there was for a legacy. He had become pretty well-known after a raid on the coast of the Mediterranean, and was rumoured to have killed hundreds of men in the process. Others hated Arthur for these rumours, and obviously quite a few pirates tricked Arthur into believing the pirates he housed on his ship were actually loyal.

The second Arthur stepped foot on the deck of the ship, heads turned. Faces scowled. Swords were poised and prepared to be drawn. Some kept working, having enough common sense to know either not to mess with Arthur or simply because they knew there was no reason to fight with him, but the others... Arthur knew quite a few men on this ship had a bone to pick with him. To be called "the pirate that ended all pirates" would be a suiting name for anyone who actually accomplished the deed of slaying the awful Arthur Kirkland, and he knew some coveted the title, while others simply didn't like him.

Johnathan's back straightened slightly, but Arthur ignored the language Johnson's body was making and instead moved his head across the ship, searching for rope. Arthur dismissed all the brooding men that glared at him as they worked, and focused more on the ship, his eyes staring down any sailor that could possibly be standing near his beloved prize. Where Arthur found his prize, though, proved to be more difficult than Arhur preferred.

Robert, one of the sailors that were brave enough to defy Arthur and his crew, had decided to lean himself against a barrel on the ship, drink in hand. The barrel, however, was much more than just a spot to rest one's elbows. Perched on top of this barrel was Arthur's rope, tightly coiled together and just begging to be used on a certain insolent prate. Arthur nudged Johnson rather roughly in the shoulder, then pointed over to Robert.

"Go get 'im." Arthur whispered, then pushed Johnson forward. Johnson frowned, but did as he was told, and walked towards Robert. The olive-skinned pirate raised his head as Johnson approached, then smiled, gesturing him over. Arthur's heart swelled with what he presumed to be envy when the two spoke. Damn Robert... thinking he could just leave his ship and betray him. He'd get his eventually, just as Tim was soon going to learn.

Arthur made his way to the back of the ship and seated himself on a crate nearby as he watched the two talking. What a bunch of wankers...

Eventually, Johnson returned with his rope, handing it off to Arthur. "We'd better get back under deck. A lot of pirates are giving us the stinky eye." He mumbled. That was a relatively understandable request... "Aye, that we should." Arthur replied, and turned on his heel back down to the lower segments of the ship.

Jonathan followed him as Arthur fiddled with the rope now in his possession, slinging it over his shoulder. "Do you know where Tim works amongst the ship?" Arthur inquired as he walked.

"Aye," Johnson began, "I know where he worked. He works on the deck of the ship as a patrol officer." He informed.

Arthur simply grunted in response. The job was somewhat convenient, depending on which way you looked at it. If it was at night, that could prove to be convenient, although most sailors would be suspicious. At least Tim was already on the deck of the ship. "Alright, then, what time does he operate?" Arthur insisted, glancing over his shoulder at Johnson.

"He works at night." Johnson informed, and a wide grin spread across Arthur's lips. "That is splendid, sir." He stated, reacting very well to the news. "Wonderful!' he exclaimed, in a great shout.

Johnson frowned slightly, looking confused. "Hm? What's so important about it?" he asked. Arthur smiled slightly. "Nothing... Well, I'm going to take a load off, . I'm going to see you at approximately twenty-three hundred."

Johnson made a sighing noise, then groaned. "Why do I need to be there?" he asked. Arthur turned to him, smirking. "Alright, why don't you ask ? I was certain you told me you were supposed to be watching me at all times." he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Johnson smiled slightly, although his eyebrows twisted together in confusion, then turned on his heel and allowed Arthur to go on to his nap.

Arthur returned to his room, narrowly avoiding several pirates that he knew were truculent people that he'd be best not to be around. He ignored the men guarding his room, and waltzed in, letting the door close behind him. He observed his room, then dropped himself in his new bed and closed his eyes, falling asleep quite quickly, despite it not being the bed he was accommodated to.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland woke rather late at night. The whole area surrounding him was dark, and he could barely see five centimetres in front of himself. He sat up in his bed and momentarily closed his eyes to hear the knock on his door. Arthur hoisted himself to his feet, grabbing his rope with him, as he hurried to answer the door. When he opened the door, though, Arthur was surprised by what he saw. Candlelight lit up Johnson's face, and his chocolate-brown eyes shone on his face, shadows cast across one half of it.

A gasp escaped itself from Arthur's mouth, and he pressed a hand against his chest. "Good going, boy, you almost gave me a heart attack!" he scolded whisperingly.

Johnson lowered his candle holder and gestured for Arthur to follow him. Arthur rolled his eyes, and gently stepped out of his chamber, closing the door in the process. "Quite punctual, are you?" Arthur murmured as he followed Johnson through the ship.

Johnson, however, wasn't showing any indication that he was even _listening_ to Arthur. Well, Arthur thought, if he was going to give him the silent treatment he could do the same thing back. They carefully progressed through the ship until Johnson opened the hatch to the top of the ship and gestured for Arthur to follow him up. Arthur grudgingly did so, although the second he stood on the deck of the ship the candlelight burnt out. "Johnson!" Arthur scolded quietly. Johnson frowned at him, turning to the Brit to express his unhappiness. "The moonlight is enough, isn't it?" he whispered back.

"I suppose so." Arthur mumbled. "Now... where is Tim?" he asked, slinging the rope over his shoulder. Johnson pointed, and Arthur's eyes followed. The front part of the ship, it seemed, was where Tim often worked. Arthur scowled and began skulking towards the bow of the ship, keeping himself bent down close to the ground to ensure he was low-key as humanly possible.

The middle of the night was one of Arthur's favourite times of the day. The moon shone brilliantly in the sky, its light painting the ocean in silver waves. The deck of the ship, despite still being dark, was also beautifully silhouetted with shadows. Lights glinted from other parts on the ship, where sailors carried lanterns with them as they did last-minute maintenance on the ship before going off to bed as well. Arthur didn't dare waste his time checking who was sailing the ship.

When Arthur neared the front of the ship, he slowed his footsteps. He saw the light flickering from a lantern not too far away, and ducked his head as the light landed at his feet. "Hey, who's there!" the familiar voice sent a curling grin on Arthur's face, and he untied the bandana from around his head as he crept towards the unsuspecting pirate. The only sound Arthur could hear was the gentle sloshing of the sea against the hull of the ship, and or a second Arthur closed his eyes, listening as the steps as they came closer and closer. He crouched down as Tim turned the corner, then pounced to his feet, pushing his hands over the other's mouth to silence him.

Tim's lantern fell in a shower of sparks on the floor. The damp wood quickly consumed the burning fire, and Arthur tied the banana around Tim's mouth, making sure it was nice and tight before he attempted to work on the arms. Tim pushed Arthur away, and fiddled with the restraint tied around his mouth. "Now, now, don't do that," Arthur muttered, jerking his hands down and behind his back. Arthur tied Tim's hands together behind his back then began to drag him across the deck of the ship towards the closest mast when he heard people approaching.

Arthur set Tim down in front of the mast, barely listening to his muffled shouts as he twisted his fingers through the rope and tied a knot around the back and front of Tim's chest, humming a chanty as he did so. With another good tug on the ropes, Arthur grinned, and crossed his arms over his chest. This was perfect, and completely worth all the lying and stealing it took to finally accomplish this goal of his.

Arthur turned as voices neared closer, and flung his head to and fro searching for a way to escape. "Hey! Who's over there?" the voice shouted, slightly muffled but extremely recognisable. It wasn't Johnson, it wasn't Robert or, god forbid, Donney, but it was Alfred. The captain of the ship, sick, lazy, and probably fat, actually wasted his time coming out here to look for thieves.

Arthur was assuming escaping would be a piece of cake. All he had to do was slip past them, preferably by waking _around_ them. Tim was already secure in his place, and all he had to do was escape, then everything would be in place for tomorrow morning. Arthur crouched down and crawled his way across the deck of the ship the other pirates were currently searching. The wankers, they'd never find him-

"Hey, look, there's some oil spilled over here." Someone stated, and soon enough all the pirates were making their way right towards At this point in time, Arthur could've done one of two things: he could run away, which was the cowardly thing to do, or he could reveal himself and save from the other pirates discovering his tied "present" that was currently concealed to the mast. Naturally, the only thing the Britton could do was reveal himself.

Arthur rose to his feet, keeping a cautious hold on the sword at his side as he stepped forward, catching sight of a familiar-looking silhouette only a few yards away. "Hey, captain Jones! You looking for me?" Arthur shouted, and immediately attracted the attention of the small convey Alfred has taken with him to investigate the deck of the ship.

Alfred turned his head, and when Arthur met eye-to-eye with him he had the impression he was looking into a being from another universe. Alfred tan skin shone beautifully, as well as his eyes, rimmed on the edges with specks of gold from the lantern casting his face in yellow shadows. Arthur stood firm as Alfred made his way over, albeit slowly. Maybe Johnson was right; he looked ill. "What are you doing here so late at night?" he asked, his blue eyes lowered in dissatisfaction.

"I could ask you the same thing." Arthur retorted, crossing his arms behind his back as he stared back, wondering if he looked as powerful as he felt.

"Well," the captain began, "I heard there was a disturbance on the deck of the ship. There was screaming, and I thought it best to investigate." He defended, although Arthur knew the statement was complete bogus.

"Come now, , certainly there's a better reason than that to come out on the deck of your ship so late at night. I thought you were sick and had to work from your room, or was I wrong? Have you spontaneously gotten better and decided now was the perfect time to get to work? Not... oh, I don't know... in the _morning_?" Arthur asked, a smile curving its way around his lips.

One of Alfred's other lackeys stepped forward, wearing the sort of face Arthur had seen a thousand times before. "Hey," he shouted, hands readied at his waist to reach for a gun or sword if needed, "you can't talk to the captain like that!" he shouted.

Arthur chuckled bitterly, wiping a tear from his eye once he was done making a show of himself. "Ah, you must be mistaken, you poor little soul. What you see before you is not a captain. Goodness, this being isn't even a pirate! He's a human, and that is about all he is." He stated, smirking when he saw the grimace on Alfred's face.

"Arthur," Alfred began, clutching his hands in front of him, "if there is something you want to admit to before we get any further into this conversation, I would welcome it." He said simply, which Arthur considered a very odd thing to say. Unless...

"You don't know anything." Arthur stated, squeezing the sword at his side. "You're an insolent man for thinking I have something to admit to you, because I obviously didn't do anything. Now, it's very late, and I believe it's about time to hit the hay, wouldn't you agree?" He asked with an extremely strained yawn, stretching his arms over his head to indicate just how tired he was.

There was a grunt from behind Arthur, and he chucked lightly. "Ah, I'm so tired!" he shouted, covering up Tim's muffled groans.

Alfred arched an eyebrow, chuckling lightly. "Is that so?" he asked, then took a step forward.

"Aye." Arthur confirmed with a curt nod of his head, taking a step back to preserve the space between them.

Although Arthur intended to keep space between them, one turn of Alfred's lantern and his sight was set on the pirate tied to the mast. Arthur chucked softly and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh dear, when did _he_ get there?" he asked.

One of the pirates tried to step forward, but Alfred held a hand out and pushed him backwards. "No, let me handle this." He stated, then paced towards Tim, kneeling down and untying the bandana around his mouth. The first thing Tim did when he was free was gasp for air, then spout a few profanities Arthur's way.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the pirate that was animatedly cussing at him at the moment. "...and that's why you're such a terrible pirate!" he exclaimed, panting by the time he had finally completed his rant. Arthur smirked happily, turning his head down to register Alfred's reaction.

Alfred turned his head, setting the lap down on the deck's floor as he situated himself comfortably near Tim's back, beginning to undo the complicated knots it took to tie him to the mast for so long. " , _now_ do you have something to admit to?" he asked, a winsome smile spreading across his lips.

To be completely honest with himself, Arthur considered the smile... _attractive_. He frowned slightly at the look the other captain was giving him, and shook his head. "Captain-" "Sailor, don't interrupt me whilst I'm speaking. Now, Arthur, we all know there is no use attempting to lie to yourself here. This sort of action is quite ridiculous, and if you're looking to be marooned-" "Wait!" Arthur exclaimed, jumping directly into Alfred's lecture. "Marooned?! But... marooned... you wouldn't possibly take the risk of losing me. You must know that." Arthur stated, narrowing his eyes at the American captain.

Alfred cocked his head to the side, still sugaring up this conversation with some of his natural appeal. It was beginning to get on Arthur's nerves, especially because he was trying very hard to listen to what the other captain was saying. But, staying awake in the middle of the night when the only thing Arthur wanted to do was sleep, his mind was beginning to wander. While Alfred was speaking, his eyes wandered back over to the roped confining Tim to the mast.

"Excuse me, , but I am simply too tired for a lecture right now. Maybe you should speak to me in the morning when I can actually listen to you." Arthur stated, placing a hand on his cheek as he watched Alfred, with some amusement, removing the ropes from Tim's chest.

Alfred untied the knots successfully, although it took a while, and he would soon realise he also had hands to untie as well. Arthur grinned at his expert rope-tying abilities, mostly an outcome of his father's superb teachings.

"Well, Arthur..." Alfred began with a long, drawn-out sigh, "I see that you've decided to work on your own schedule. If that is how you feel, why don't you take Tim's place as punishment?" he asked, turning his blue eyes back on Arthur.

Arthur sputtered for a moment, taken aback by the bright blue eyes that seemed so enticing... it must've just been because he was too exhausted to have common sense. That, and the fact that Alfred's proposition was so ridiculous, it took the Brit a moment to fabricate a reasonable response. "Excuse me?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"You," Alfred began, pointing at Arthur, "Take _his_ place." He stated, pointing back to Tim. Alfred was then done untying Tim's hands and stood back to his feet, bringing the lamp with him. Two of Alfred's loyal sailors quickly rushed over and helped Tim to his feet.

Tim stretched his arms out, glaring at Arthur. Arthur knew this, despite him standing in the dark; Tim was practically emanating with frustration, and Arthur could sense the uncomfortable apprehension between them that prickled his skin and made him scowl in response.

Alfred snapped his fingers, and Arthur turned his attention back to the captain. "Get on your knees, okay?" he asked.

Arthur's face curled back down in a noticeable grimace that he was sure the American could see, despite the bad lighting. "No, I'm not bloody degrading myself like that." He growled, taking an extra step away from Alfred, not wanting the man or any of his goonies to catch him by surprise and _force_ him to his feet.

The captain frowned unhappily, and crossed his arms in response. Not only was Arthur scowling and crossing his arms now, but Alfred was as well. It was almost as if the two of them were mirroring each other.

"Cap'n, I can take care of this. You just go back and get your rest." Tim stated.

As if he would have the _audacity_! How dare these bloody men speak over him like he was just an object! He was a living being, damn it, and he was not going to get punished in reprisal for what Tim rightfully deserved. "I am _going_ to bed. Tim here got what he deserved. I hope you all know now that I am not going to let any pirate threaten me. I have swords, and I am going to use them!" he exclaimed.

Alfred chuckled lightly, and uncrossed his arms from his chest. "Very clearly, . Well... it's late. I suppose it couldn't hurt to punish you in the morning." He reasoned, although Arthur knew the other pirates weren't enjoying Alfred's leniency. Yet, he was Arthur Kirkland. Alfred was picking the right decision when he decided to give Arthur a break.

The Brit's smile lessened to a gentler smile, and he turned his head to the other pirates, almost going so far as to sick his tongue out at the inglorious idiots. Then, without another word, he marched off the deck of the ship and back into the lower portions of the ship, mostly because he didn't want to end up getting in a whole load of trouble because he was pardoned by the captain. This may have been something bad in the long run, but he didn't care. He was just saved from being tied to the mast of the ship to be exposed to serious potential unrepentant maltreatment in the morning, and he wasn't going to abuse that.

Arthur slid into his bed and let out a rather large sigh of relief. Thank goodness, this day was finally over. No longer did his body have to groan in exhaustion. He heard the door to his cell lock close, and let himself drift into a comfortable rest.

* * *

_**AN: An interesting thing I didn't know before writing this was that most privateering has been rom**__**anticized over the years and now most of us have an exaggerated view on pirates. They would not make people "Walk the plank," because pirates really didn't have time for that and would often just toss people into the ocean to drown to death. I'm not completely confident that is the sort of personality I want this story to have, though. Maybe some romanticizing is good.**_

_**P.S. I know most of you are thinking: "This is romance. What is Arthur doing with this Johnson guy?" That answer will be answered... in time. **_


	6. The Essence of Hard Working

_**Canada Day, Fourth of July, and Bastilles day... what better way to celebrate July but with a good read? Enjoy. **_

The Essence of Hard Working

Mornings were, and always were, in Arthur's point of view, the longest part of the day. The day's warm sun seeped in from Arthur's window and bathed him in the rays of the sun's happy light. Although Arthur had a well-deserved sleep, Arthur's mornings weren't often enjoyable.

Arthur turned over in bed, groaning, as he pressed a hand against his cheek, wiping a stray strand of drool from his mouth. He let out a long yawn as he began to stir from his pleasurable slumber, opening his eyes in the process.

And that was when a familiar face showed itself in front of the Brit. Arthur's eyes shot open even wider, and his first initial reaction to this invasion of space was to push himself away and provide some breathing room between him and the other pirate.

"Good morning!" Johnson hummed, and Arthur scowled at him as he attempted to sit up, tempted to crush Johnson's skull with his own head. "Get off, boy." He stated simply, trying his best to mind his manners.

Johnson frowned and retreated his head, then took an appropriate step back. "I apologise." He murmured.

Arthur sat up the moment Johnson moved out of the way, rubbing his tired eyes as he began to awake from his prosperous slumber. "What do you want so early in the morning, boy?" he mumbled, lowering his hands as he gazed up at Johnson.

Johnson replied with a joyous chuckle. "Oh, that? It's been morning for a few hours now. You've slept in; probably because of last night, I reckon." He replied with a friendly smile.

'I reckon?' Arthur scowled at the term and slowly stood to his feet, taking a momentary scowl at his clothing. "Y'know, Johnson... clean clothes would sound good about now." He informed, picking lightly at the white shirt he had worn so often that the color had turned dark from blood and sweat.

Johnson noticed the frown, and scratched the back of his head. "Well... if you really need some clothes, I could get some for you, but only _after_ you speak with cap'n Jones. He's been asking for you all morning." He informed with a slight, worried frown. Arthur cocked his head to the side when seeing the frown. This was really good news, so why was Johnson frowning about it? Well, in Arthur's opinion, this was going to be fun. He'd have to get to the American immediately, if only to terrorize him.

Arthur grinned happily, and shot to his feet. "Well, then, I have to get my arse goin,' now don't I?" he asked.

Johnson nodded, again, and shuffled his feet to the side an attempt to allow Arthur to pass bye. "Aye, but... Captain Jones has been in a bad mood since this morning. You should definitely be careful." He warned, his voice strained with sorry.

Arthur chuckled sweetly at the new information. Kind Johnson, always looking out for others. Too bad he didn't know Arthur could handle himself. "He's in a cranky mood, is he? That makes things ten times better for me. Thank you for informing me of this. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get going and see what captain Alfred has to say to me." He stated, marching his way past Johnson.

"Okay! I'll see you later!" Johnson called from behind, allowing him to trek on ahead.

Arthur scurried to the deck pf the ship, eager to meet Captain Jones. It occurred to Arthur that Johnson hadn't told him where Captain Alfred was, and he had no idea where to look for the American. But, based on Arthur's experiences, his hopes rose when he considered the fact that captains were usually either by the wheel of the ship or in their captain's cabin.

When Arthur reached the deck of the ship, he glanced around, his eyes searching the faces for the captain when all he saw in return were frowns and sneers. Arthur glanced between the pirates, ignoring how they scowled at him as he continued to search for Alfred. "Where is Captain Jones?" he asked, bringing his hands to his hips.

The pirates looked amongst each other, and Arthur was fifty percent sure that they were going to dump him into the ocean or cut off a limb-that was how threatening their looks were. One pirate, though, seemed calm enough to be able to talk without saying anything overly threatening. "Captain Jones is on the starboard bow."

Starboard bow... the front of the ship, on the right. "Aye," Arthur stated with a slight smile, although more foul looks were given in return than happy ones. Arthur made his way over to the right side of the ship, his eyes falling on Alfred the second the bugger was in his view. Arthur waltzed over, taking quite a while to reach the captain, giving all the other pirates something to look at as he made his way over to their well-respected captain.

"Mr. Jones," Arthur called, bringing himself in-step with the pirate captain as he walked. Alfred glanced over to him, automatically recognizing Arthur's face. "Ah, good morning... _slave_." He stated with an annoyingly jolly smirk.

Arthur scowled in response, but buried the profanities in his head with happy thoughts that would soon (hopefully) become a reality. "Well... Johnson told me to come over here right away. I'm assuming there was something you wanted to say to me?" he asked.

Alfred nodded in agreement, while his smile spread even wider. Arthur didn't understand how such a man could smile so much without splitting their lip. "I have several tasks for you to do today, Mr. Kirkland. First of all, I need you to adjust the shrouds so that they connect more firmly to the yards on the foremast. While you're up there, can you make sure the yard and sails are adjusted correctly? And when you're done with that, I need you to go to the middle gun deck and speak with my master gunner about the cannons. Do you think you can do that?" He asked.

Arthur's jaw dropped. Where did this bloody captain get off thinking he could make Arthur do all of this shite? The tasks sounded completely ludicrous, and they all sounded extremely time-consuming. He frowned unhappily at the propositions, but knew there was no denying the captain's orders, even if the orders were absurd. Yet, what really sealed the bill was the fact that the Brit promised Alfred he'd make up for last night's _incident_. "Aye, I think I can manage. Is that all, Mr. Jones?" Arthur asked, clasping his hands behind his back, keeping a firm hold of them.

The sly smile on Alfred's lips maintained its annoying luster. "Well, there's also the rules of the ship... you should learn them well so you don't find yourself in any big trouble now, boy." He stated.

Arthur's unusually thick eyebrows twitched at the new nickname. "I am not a boy, insolent man. And trust me, I've been on enough bloody ships to know how the rules work." He scolded, wagging his finger at the American.

In response, Alfred laughed, his hands on his hips as he bellowed a hearty chortle. The laughter caught Arthur by surprise, and he frowned unhappily. First of all, he was ninety percent sure Johnson warned him that the American was in a bad mood, and second, Arthur disliked the laugh, the association to something in his past too hard to ignore. "Just don't get in my way, you git. I'm working." Arthur scolded, and turned his back on the man and instead turned his focus on the rigging he was supposed to examine.

Arthur Kirkland was born a natural, well-bodied young man. His slim figure was shown to be quite convenient, and proved to help him escape more than just a few tight situations. Apart from Arthur's natural agility, climbing the masts proved to be one of his favourite pastimes. This would be a piece of cake, considering his years of experience. Arthur made his way across the deck and decided to check the chains on the fore channel, that is, the shelf attached to the side of the ship by the shrouds.

Arthur tugged on the chains and checked the attachments with the ropes. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, Arthur turned to climb up the tent of ropes ahead of him to reach the platform waiting for him not too high ahead. He stuck his feet on the ropes and began to climb, simply ignoring the ocean beneath him. For Arthur, one of his worst fears would have to be dropping into the ocean without being able to swim back out, so of course the solution was to focus entirely on climbing.

The ropes swayed gently as Arthur scaled the shrouds, his hands wrapped in a death grip around the ropes as he climbed, not wanting to fall if the wind began to strengthen. Once Arthur climbed onto the platform, though, his fears melted away, and he set back to work.

Arthur knelt down and began tugging on the ropes, making slight tweaks to ensure that the rigging was sure to hold up for a long while. His fingers scraped against the ropes and he frowned unhappily when the ropes burned his skin. That wasn't very comfortable. Arthur glanced down at the red mark, and brought it to his mouth to suck on his finger for a moment as he glanced around, trying not to look at the ocean as he did so. The blue seas swayed forebodingly underneath Arthur, although he attempted not to think about the oceans and instead about his next task.

"'Make sure the yards and sails are adjusted,' eh?" Arthur muttered under his voice, mimicking Alfred's _obviously_ annoying voice. The sails fluttered in the wind, pristine and white against the cerulean sky. Arthur didn't want to check on the sails while they were open, but knew that refusing the captain meant he would have disobeyed the captain, which was a crime punishable by a good flogging.

He began to stand on the yards, wooden and round. With expert agility, Arthur had no issue being careful as he walked across them to the edge of the yard, where he knelt down and checked to see that the masts were connected securely to the yards. Once Arthur confirmed that the mast was, he moved on to another corner and repeated the process until he was done adjusting all the sails on the foremast.

When Arthur was finally done with all of the mast-related tasks he was given, he carefully climbed himself back onto the ground, then leaned over and heaved a great sigh of relief. What time-consuming activities! He could really use a good drink.

Getting a drink _did_ sound extremely good right now, Arthur thought, but he still had one more thing to do. He still had to go to the middle gun deck and speak to the supposed "maser gunner" about the cannons.

In Arthur's opinion, the cannons worked perfectly fine. What could possibly be wrong with them? He trudged down to the lower decks of the ship, heaving a few tired sighs as he did so. His rumpled hair had gotten shaggier and sweatier as the day progressed, and he yearned to have his bandana back. The Brit dragged his feet as he stepped onto the gun deck, and began to search for the master gunner.

The only thing Arthur found when he searched for the gunner were a few unhappy pirates that glared at him as he walked his way past them. Cannons lined the walls on either side of Arthur, and he smiled a content smile as he walked past them. He had never actually fired a cannon, often too busy dealing with issues on the deck of the ship to handle the cannons. But, as any pirate knew, they had to be able to handle every part of their ship.

"Where is the master gunner here?" Arthur called, turning his head every which way searching for the man he was supposed to speak to. "He's not here. He's speaking to Cap'n Jones right now." one of the sailors informed, and Arthur frowned slightly at the new information. "He is, is he?" Arthur mumbled, then turned on his heel and began to walk back up the stairs when he bumped directly into someone. Immediately, Arthur's hand was at his sword as he took a strenuous step backwards.

"Hey!" the man shouted, and Arthur scowled as the stranger stepped down and Arthur came face-to-face with a sea dog.

The man had a brown beard beginning to gray, an unhappy scowl, and a very worn-out sailor's attire. Arthur simply squeezed the hilt of his sword as the man frowned down at him. "Would you be the gunner I've been searching for?" he inquired, turning to his more polite voice in hopes the man wouldn't start a fight with him.

The man stiffened, and straightened himself as he was addressed as the gunner. "Aye, that be me. You must be the... slave?" he asked.

Arthur's eyebrows involuntarily twitched, and he frowned unhappily. "Nay, I be Arthur Kirkland." He informed.

The supposed "gunner" frowned confusedly. "Who?" he inquired.

Arthur was beginning to grow frustrated. He was supposed to be well-known. Was this man deaf? "Arthur Kirkland, sir." He repeated, his bushy eyebrows still awaiting the cue to draw further downwards.

"Arthur Kirkland, eh? I 'aven't heard nothing 'bout no Arthur Kirkland. Are you sure you're not the slave I was supposed to see?" the man insisted.

With a defeated sigh, Arthur bowed his head. "Sir, I go by Arthur Kirkland, not 'slave.' I think it'd be best if you address me the way I'm supposed to be addressed." He informed.

In response, the gunner chuckled and slapped Arthur hard on the shoulder. "Mr. Kirkland, I've heard of you. It's so gracious for you to help out here today. Mr. Jones said you would be willing to help me with something." he informed with a fixatedly spontaneous smile.

Arthur didn't understand how this man functioned, but he didn't like it. He leaned away from the man's hand, his own still squeezing the sword at his disposal. "Do you have a name, wanker?" he asked, tempted to raise his sword to this man.

The gunner took a step forward, holding out a hand for Arthur to shake. "Don't fret, boy, I'm only joking around. You can call me Benjamin. Ben for short." He informed.

Arthur felt obligated to shake his hand, and did so with the firmest grip he could muster. After a few good shakes, Arthur lowered his hand once more. "That's good to know, Ben. Now, what can I help you with?" he asked.

Ben turned around, raising a hand to gesture with a single swoop to all of the canons lined against the walls. "I'd like it if you could clean all the cannons in this room." he informed, with the same old man-looking innocence Arthur disliked so much.

Arthur didn't like the sound of this next task. He wasn't just any normal sailor, and this was such a time devouring and demeaning job he felt extremely insulted to even _consider_ going. "You couldn't... oh, I don't know... have someone else do this instead? Aren't there any cabin boys or swabs on deck that could do this?" he asked.

Ben shook his head in response. "Nay. Cap'n Jones told me to set this job aside especially for you. Now, to clean the cannons, first you wipe the whole thing down with some suds and water, then polish the outer shell off with some varnish." He explained.

Arthur nodded his head, sighing tiredly at the new information. "Aye, I know. Now, if you'll just give me the supplies, I'll get right on it." He stated, albeit hesitantly, fully aware that he was throwing his moral values out the window.

Ben nodded, and left for a short while, returning down the stairs with two different buckets and one disgusting-looking rag. Arthur scowled but picked up the water-filled bucket and got to work.

Arthur Kirkland, on his hands and knees, was cleaning a cannon. He knew he probably looked like an idiot doing so while other pirates just as suitable for the job sat several yards away, drinking and laughing as he worked. Aside from the shameful task, it was as bloody hot as Hell itself, and Arthur found himself often wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, even using the rag in an attempt to saturate his neck and give it some relief to the hot state Arthur was forced to work in.

Cannons, Arthur knew, were very complex things. They were heavy, somewhat difficult to use, and had to be maintained well. Although cannons may need extensive maintenance, Arthur thought cleaning the whole thing was going a bit too far. The things were rusty and old, and Arthur enjoyed doing simpler things than cleaning. And, despite the fact that killing sailors was a gruesome and often taxing task on the body, it was much more fun than cleaning cannons.

Arthur dumped his hand in the bucket of water and scrubbed the outside of the cannon, wiping off dirt and grimy fluids off that Arthur would better leave to the imagination. From the corner of Arthur's eye he could see Ben watching him, and turned around to fully face him. "What in bloody blazes are you doing?! Don't just sit there and stare at me, do some bloody work!" he scolded.

For Ben, it was some kind of joke to him. He chuckled and shook his head. "No, keep going. I want to see you complete this task. Don't forget to clean the inside, too!" he shouted.

Almost immediately, Arthur's offensive side showed itself. Standing to his feet, Arthur yanked the cannon from its original position and instead dragged it towards him, taking the large metal body and lifting it upwards. With quick precision, Arthur retrieved his bucket and placed its mouth to the mouth of the cannon. "Hey!" Ben shouted, and rushed over. "Don't do that!" he shouted.

Arthur's face soon took on a stern countenance. "What? You asked me to clean it." He stated, holding the bucket precariously over the edge of the cannon. Ben quickly confiscated the bucket, his eyes almost bugging out of his head. "No, not like that, you idiot!" he exclaimed, and his hand swooped down on Arthur's head.

For a second, Arthur knew it'd be wrong of him to react in defiance to Ben's scolding methods. Then, again, he was bloody booty to these idiots, and they'd have to keep him alive no matter what he did.

When the blow first struck Arthur's head, his hand shot out for his sword, and he half-pulled it from its sheath, allowing the metal to gleam forebodingly at Ben. "Ben, sir, I understand if you do not want your cannons ruined at my hands, but when you tell me to clean a cannon, measures must be taken to ensure that you understand what 'clean the cannons' means. Because I am a man of reason, I will give you this chance to change your mind about what you say. And I suggest you not raise a hand to me again." He threatened, the ferocity bright in his eyes.

Ben slowly lowered the bucket, realisation gradually dawning on his face the more Arthur's words sunk in. eventually, Ben placed the bucket back down and turned his back on the Brit. "Mr. Kirkland, just clean the outside of the cannons." He mumbled, then walked off to leave Arthur in (finally) peace. Arthur sighed with relief, and without any further interruptions, finished wiping down the cannons. When he was finished cleaning them, Arthur also washed them over with the varnish Ben had given him.

When Arthur was done with the completely demoralizing task, he stood from his crouching position and stretched out, happy Ben had finally left him alone. He then left the buckets abandoned as he made his way to the dining room for something to eat. He picked himself out a nice jug of rum and ate two apples he found, carrying the rum with him as he then walked towards the deck of the ship, eventually making it there to speak to Captain Jones. He breathed in the splendid salty sea, stretching his arms again as he headed for the wheel of the ship, relieved when he saw Alfred not too far away from the wheel, speaking with several people that seemed extremely familiar.

Arthur, still exhausted from the day's tasks, plodded over to him. "Mr. Jones, I finished those..." time-wasting tasks seemed appropriate, but... "_Things_ you asked me to tend to." He informed.

Alfred turned to the Brit, patting one of the sailors that were at his side. "Hello, Arthur. I see you've finally finished the tasks I assigned you. Now that you're back, I'd like you to say hello to some men that may seem familiar to you. Do you remember these sailors? Ah, Rick, Andrew, and Lewis, say hello to your former captain." He mused.

The Brit's heart fell when he saw the three pirates, who seemed more similar to him now than they were supposed to. All three of the men were dirty and had no hats or jackets on, and Arthur could sense how belittled he was. Alfred had wanted this, hadn't he? Alfred had wanted him to feel as dispensable as the men that had betrayed him on his own ship for just a few handfuls of coin. His betrayal from his own men also dug deep in Arthur and hit him where it hurt, and he felt the need to punish those men tenfold for betraying him. How much of his crew had forsaken him? Just a few people, or half of his crew? He'd have to keep an eye out to see if any faces were familiar the next time he walked around on this ship.

"Well, ah... Mr. Jones, I finished those tasks you assigned to me. Is there anything else you need?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows unconsciously narrowing as he spoke to the captain, albeit with an unhappy frown on his face.

"Why yes, I still have another thing to ask of you." He replied. Arthur arched a bushy eyebrow, and he crossed his arms over his chest, slightly irritated. "I already cleaned the cannons, checked the masts, made sure the shrouds were tied correctly... what else do you want from me?" he asked.

The captain showed one of his sweeter smiles, placing a hand at the hilt of his sword. "These men were just telling me about your expert swordsmanship. I believe I have a right to be skeptical, and I was thinking an evaluation of your skills would be very worthy my attention. Don't you think sparring is much more fun than doing some useless chores?" he asked, the smile spreading.

Arthur's first reaction to the words was a scowl. As if he didn't know all those chores were for nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest, retaining the stance of a captain. "Are you a bloody idiot? Is this some kind of joke? You think you can make me do all of those bloody stupid chores, then demean me like this? You know I'm too exhausted to fight properly. Don't act as if you don't know what you're doing." He stated. It was bad enough that Alfred had him working his arse off until exhaustion, but now Alfred had the audacity to insist on fighting the Brit when he was at one of his... _weaker_ times of functioning.

Alfred chuckled in response. "Are you saying you're not tough enough to fight me?" he inquired, and Arthur was pretty damn sure the American knew the answer to the question.

"Mocking me will not get you far." Arthur advised, watching as Alfred drew out his sword, and Arthur was prepared to remove that head from its perfectly situated neck. When did this American think it was a good decision to frustrate Arthur Kirkland?

But Arthur, unlike Alfred, was not going to draw his sword, even when he was very tempted to do so. "If you had even a shred of respect for me, you'd let me rest instead of playing this little game of yours." He stated, resting a hand on the sword at his side, already knowing his words were not going to be listened to.

Alfred chuckled for what felt like the thousandth time, the sword in his hand swaying precariously to the side. "To be quite honest, I don't respect you at all." he informed.

"Well," Arthur began, turning and gingerly placing his mug of rum on a barrel nearby, "Then that's a deal breaker for me." He informed. He drew his sword out and turned to Alfred, keeping his composure as he spoke. "I suppose I'll have to teach you to respect me. One question, though. You don't want to feel shame, do you? Because that's what you're going to get when I beat you." He warned forebodingly.

Unfortunately, Arthur's warnings went unnoticed. It didn't seem Alfred really cared about the immense shame he was going to feel the second he lost this little "evaluation."

"I am sure I can handle it." Alfred replied with a cocky smile that made Arthur's stomach groan in disgust. Reinvigorated with the yearning to prove that he deserved respect from the captain, Arthur raised his sword to the captain's chest. "Be prepared to defend yourself, imbecile." He warned.

The three former pirates of Arthur's crew backed away, knowing they needed some space to fight so they didn't inadvertently decapitate a bystander.

Alfred advanced on him, and before Arthur knew it the man was swinging his sword, and Arthur quickly thrust his sword out to meet the other's vicious attacks.

Alfred kept a determined look on his face as he attempted to push Arthur's swings back, to no avail. Arthur began to chuckle as Alfred continuously slammed his sword against the other's. "Come now, boy, is that all you have?" Arthur inquired as he began to swing for Alfred's head, and the man was quick to try and defend himself. If they were more than sparring right now, Arthur thought, he would've definitely had Alfred underneath his foot.

Despite Arthur's wonderful swordsmanship, he was admittedly exhausted. There was weakness and soreness spreading throughout his body, and although he hadn't been struck by any swords he still felt the blows rattle his bones.

Alfred prepared to swing his sword again, and Arthur quickly thrust his sword forward, stopping short at Alfred's neck. Alfred paused, and he looked down at the blade picking at his skin. "Arthur..." he gasped, his throat restrained and probably constricted by the heat of the moment and the thought that he was about to get his esophagus cut out.

The Brit, although exhausted, wasn't going to let Alfred go so easily. "What, still don't have any respect for me?" he asked.

Alfred's eyes still locked themselves on the sword pressed to his neck. "I..." he began, although his voice was rapidly failing him. "I? I what? Surrend-" Arthur's hand was spontaneously shoved from Alfred's hold, and Arthur felt the touch of metal against his wrist as Alfred took a precarious step backwards.

Frustrated by Alfred's sword-thrusting, Arthur shoved the man's sword back in obvious distaste, quickly advancing on the pirate captain. "Still no respect, eh?" Arthur growled, clutching his sword in a death grip. "First some bloody body guard, then the stupid chores, now this? You wanted a fight, American, and now you have one." He hissed, bringing his sword back towards Alfred's neck. This time, though, the American was quick to defend himself against the attack.

When Alfred went for another swing of his sword, Arthur advanced further, almost bringing his head straight to Alfred's blade when he bent underneath it. Arthur brought himself back up, bringing himself extremely close to the American.

Arthur smirked at Alfred's befuddled expression, bringing a hand up to press it against the other's chest. "The problem with you, Arthur," Alfred began, attempting to take a step back as Arthur neared closer, "is that you expect me to respect you when you haven't even proven yourself to me. Do as you're told and stop complaining." He scolded.

Arthur shoved his hand back, and with one muscle-screaming jerk reached back for Alfred's sword as the American collapsed on the hard wood of the deck.

Alfred looked baffled, completely taken aback by Arthur's sudden actions. Arthur stopped closer, resting his feet on either side of Alfred's legs, gazing down at him with a great sneer. "I _have_ earned respect, Alfred. I have the damned scars to prove it." He stated, the frustrated in his voice quivering with unmasked fury. He lowered one of his two swords to rest against Alfred's neck. "Now... what was that you were going to say?" he asked.

Alfred's sea blue eyes refrained from shining their usual luster. He stared back up at Arthur, his gaze steady as he thought over his words. "You're the Great Arthur Kirkland, aren't you?" he asked.

Arthur slowly nodded in response. "Ah... aye, I thought we'd already covered this." He grumbled.

"Well," Alfred began, "You may be respected by strangers because of how popular you are, but actually knowing someone is a completely different story." he reminded.

Seething with frustration, Arthur shoved the sword into the deck beside Alfred's head. He pulled the other sword into the sheath at his side, then left the captain Jones sprawled across the deck of his own ship.

Arthur walked to the dining room, retrieving another cup of rum and dropping himself into a seat not too far away from the entrance of the dining room. He slouched in his seat, bent over the table as he took a few good drinks off of his rum.

Unfortunately for Arthur Kirkland, he was a victim to the bottle. Whenever he drank, Arthur often awoke with a splitting headache and an unhappy demeanor. In other cases, it wasn't uncommon for Arthur to wake up in someone else's bed. This time, though, he'd promise himself he'd be careful.

Especially today, Arthur thought he needed a good break. Alfred had been getting on his nerves for a good while now, and it was about time he finally gave himself a break. First it was the disgraceful betrayal of a good amount of his own crew members, and now it was Alfred's questioning of his own respect. The returning feeling that these people had never really wanted to work with Arthur stung him. They'd get theirs, he thought, smiling slightly when he remembered the Tim incident.

Aside from the renegades of Arthur's former crew, there were also the stupid chores Alfred had assigned, and then the fact that _Alfred _was the one to insist on sparring. How was any of this his fault?

"Arthur!" Johnson shouted, rushing over to Arthur's seat.

Arthur slowly raised his head and looked at Johnson, sighing tiredly as the pirate sat himself down next to him with the most serious face Arthur had ever seen of his. He frowned slightly and lowered his cup. "Arthur!" Johnson exclaimed again.

The Brit sighed, and took another drink of his cup before he turned all of his attention onto Johnson. "Aye, what is it, boy?" he asked.

Johnson's face was so bright and he was smiling so happily that Arthur thought something completely impossible had happened. He leaned in close, and Arthur leaned away, frowning unhappily at the yet again too-close contact. "We're reaching land. Cap'n Alfred says we should be on land by tomorrow." He informed.

Arthur felt like he was beginning to choke on air. He cleared his throat, unable to quench his insatiable astonishment. "Wait... so soon?" he asked, frowning unhappily. "But... I just got on this ship. It should be at least two more _weeks_ before we hit our destination." He reasoned, hoping to god his navigational skills weren't failing him. He didn't want to be turned over to his pursuers so soon, especially because he and Alfred weren't on good terms. That was going to worsen everything.

Johnson chuckled in response. "Oh, Mr. Kirkland, we're not turning you in just yet. We've just ran out of some much needed supplies, so all of us mates decided it'd be best to stop on a nearby island for a while so we can stock up on supplies. Alfred estimated we're going to be there for at least two days." He informed.

Arthur's heart fluttered, and he sighed with happy relief. "Oh, thank goodness." He mumbled, then drained the rest of his rum in celebration. Johnathan smiled in response, and patted Arthur on the shoulder. "It's okay, Arthur, you don't have to worry about getting back on land. Once you're there, I know there's nothing the people there could do to dissuade your undetermined strength." He assured.

Arthur hesitated from his exultation when he heard this reassuring speech, and lowered his hand back down. "Excuse me? Oh, Johnson, I already know that." He assured, although deep down he was admittedly surprised by the words coming from the other pirate's mouth. Did... Johnson actually have some knowledge in that noggin of his?

Johnson nodded, laughing lightly as he rubbed the back of his head. "Aye, I figured that... although I thought it'd be best you heard it from someone else other than yourself." He explained.

After Johnson better explained what he was doing throwing around such good compliments, Arthur stood to his feet and reached over to pat him on the shoulder. "You're an okay pirate, Jackson. Not the most... _toughest_... I've seen, but you're nicer than any of the other wankers on this ship." He informed.

Johnson's face lit up in response, and he smiled. "Oh, thank you, sir. That's very nice of you!" he exclaimed.

"Now..." Arthur began, stretching out a yawn, "I'm going to bed, so when we get going tomorrow I'm not as tired as I was yesterday." He explained.

"Aye, cap'n Kirkland, I'll see you tomorrow morning." Johnson agreed.


	7. The Term Used for Discipline

The Term Used for Discipline

Seven year old Arthur Kirkland once again found himself seated outside of his house, his knees pulled to his chest and a timid scowl etched into his face. He reached over and glared into the cobblestones, the bricks still fresh from a recent downpour. Today was supposed to be the perfect day, although his brothers had soon ruined the experience for him, as well as local annoyances that were known as classmates.

Gazing into the puddle, Arthur could see his reflection in it, and leaned forward to get a better look. His eyebrows didn't look _that_ much like caterpillars, did they? He had been mocked for them ever since he was born, but never understood why. Most of the rest of his family had them, too-the strange, hairy things that rested above the eyes and under the hairline. Why did they exist? Arthur had seen some people's hair that was so blond they were barely visible-sometimes a pirate that crossed Arthur's path may have the fortune to have scar placed right across the eyebrow. _Those_ people weren't picked on for having strange eyebrows. But him... he had to be different, didn't he? He didn't have his brothers' amazing hair colours or his father's overly sociable mindset.

Sighing as he gazed back into the water, Arthur could only feel the dread of turning back and facing those wankers at school who had started this to begin with. Their ugly faces, the noises they made when they were laughing at him... His father was a pirate, dang it! And the little Brit wasn't going to just sit by as they questioned his complete existence! Only... there wasn't much Arthur Kirkland could do to quench the insatiable wrath from the nearby city boys. Every time he touched them, even if it was an accidental tap on the shoulder, he was punished.

Arthur grunted at the memory of passing by the boys in the street, and the moment they screamed and swore the pirate's son had almost stabbed one of them. What a bunch of jerks! What Arthur wouldn't do to get just one good shot in-but no, every time Albert was home, Arthur had been taught on the principals of control: Don't ever lose your temper; don't let the enemy influence your decisions; and, most importantly, always have a hand at the sword if it's needed to silence the back-stabbers.

'_That's what control is, isn't it?' _Arthur thought, smirking when he went back over the list. He could do all of those things-he never let the wankers influence what he did, and the other two-he could obviously manage those... with time. The only issue for Arthur was the fact that he had an undeniably short temper.

With a shockingly sudden voice calling Arthur's name from his shallow focus, the Brit was pulled from his thoughts. He thrust his head back to the boy standing above him, and leaned backwards to catch a sight of the boy's face. When Arthur could see the face, the voice he had heard earlier was beginning to make more sense. Francis stood at Arthur's feet, with his hands clasped in front of him and his violet eyes cast down.

Without a word, Arthur scooted aside, allowing Francis to seat himself beside him. He wasn't completely sure what it was that compelled him to do so, especially when he was so set on ignoring the other boy over half of the time they spent together. There was something about the frown that Francis wore that indicated there was something bothering him; he had worn the face before when he was thinking about his father or someone that probably never had real attachments to him. Arthur never understood why Francis was so trapped in the time loop, asking his mother things Arthur hardly found significant about his family and the past.

Francis seated himself beside Arthur, and the little Brit puffed out his cheeks as he looked Francis up and down. Since their younger years, Arthur had finally begun to catch up to the other boy in height. Albert insisted that he was just a "late bloomer," whatever that meant. Today, though, it just wasn't in Arthur to pick on the Frenchman about his height. Aside from his build, though, Arthur had also noticed the difference in clothing. No longer did Francis wear dress-like outfits. He had turned more towards trousers and white shirts, and Arthur was pretty sure he knew _why_ Francis decided not to wear dresses anymore, although he preferred not to think such negative thoughts about him.

Because Francis wasn't speaking, Arthur was confident that something had happened. One thing Arthur's father's teachings had proved to be effective in such situations was a good change in conversation. If Francis wasn't going to begin a conversation with him, Arthur could always start one himself and assist the French-boy in forgetting about whatever bad experiences plagued him. "Why are you frowning so much? It's a nice day." Arthur stated, daring to take a glance at the friend seated beside him.

Francis kept his head bowed down, and Arthur was beginning to scowl at him for being so abnormally reserved. "Well," Francis began, "it's been raining a lot, and my idea of a nice day has never been an especially cloudy day. Qu'est-ce que un jour nuageux, n'est-ce pas?" he inquired, cocking his head at Arthur with a slight twitch of the lips.

Arthur's bushy eyebrows shot down on his face. He squirmed in his seat until he had his whole body turned completely towards Francis. Francis had spoken French to him before, but every time Francs said anything in the foreign language Arthur was quick to criticize him. "You see here," he began, the little pout on his face portraying the gravity of the situation, "I don't know what you just said, but I'm pretty sure you just said that this place is ugly, and that's just mean! Just because it's a tiny bit cloudy doesn't mean you go blaming it on your terrible day." He stated.

There was a pause, then Francis smiled, and Arthur felt a weight lift off his chest. "Arthur... I just said that it's a little cloudy today, isn't it?" He asked.

As always, Arthur simply scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. "That's not what I heard." He stated.

Francis laughed, shaking his head. "Non, Arthur, that _is_ what you heard. It was just in a different language." He reasoned.

Despite Francis's clever logic, Arthur wasn't interested. He shook his head in response, still refusing to accept the fact that he didn't know French. "It's a little cloudy today, is it? And what's wrong with that?" he asked, beginning the rhetorical loop that usually consisted of speaking with such a young Arthur Kirkland.

Francis shrugged in response, attempting to continue the conversation either way. "Well, in France, rainy days are rare." He informed with a slight smirk of triumph.

For Arthur, it felt like one insult after another. Was Francis implying that France was better than England? Because France wasn't much more than a bunch of people and some bread. "But-but-" Arthur stuttered, at a loss for words. Francis sat with a hand on his cheek an amused smirk on his face as he watched Arthur attempt to concoct a full sentence, obviously to no avail.

"Are you done yet?" he asked, smiling when Arthur bowed his head with the look of a defeated boy. "Yes..." he muttered, then turned his head back up to Francis to see that he was smiling. Even better though, was the person walking down the street. Arthur leaned forward, poking his head past Francis's shoulder to get a better look. When Arthur confirmed that the man was no doubt his beloved father, he shot to his feet and shouted to the man walking down the street.

"Dad! Dad!" Arthur exclaimed, standing with his hands clasped over his mouth to ensure the volume of his voice could be perceived. Albert raised an arm over his head and waved at them, and Arthur grinned, turning his head back down to Francis. "Look, dad's here! He came back today, just like he promised he would!" he exclaimed.

Francis tilted his head to the side, and began to speak as Arthur rushed over to his father. "Why would you..." he began, although he stopped when it seemed Arthur was much too absorbed in his father to even hear his voice.

"Dad! Tell me what happened while you were gone!" Arthur shouted, and Francis removed the hand from his cheek and stood to greet the little Brit's father.

"Bonjour, ." he greeted. Albert, who was in the process of picking Arthur up, chuckled and smiled at the Frenchman. "Hello there, boy. Come on in," he greeted, reaching over to open the door for Francis as he lifted Arthur into his arms, situating himself comfortably against his shoulder.

Arthur stuck his nose out, the ultimate pose of supremacy, as his father carried him inside. Francis watched as Albert walked into the living room, seating himself on the couch as Albert announced in his usually loud voice that he was home.

Arthur's mother appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, looking exhausted from a long day of hard work. "Oh, hello, honey." She welcomed, wiping her hands with a towel as she walked over. Albert placed Arthur down on the couch next to Francis, where Arthur then sneered at the other boy as Albert and Madelyn embraced each other. "Where are the kids, eh?" he asked. Madelyn laughed softly. "They're next door. Alison said she could take care of them for some thirty minutes so I could have some peace." She replied.

Albert turned back to Arthur and Francis, smiling amicably. "I guess it's just us. What about e take a little walk?" he asked.

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look of complete and absolute astonishment. Albert was never not working, and even a few minutes spent with him were to be cherished, but for him to have enough time to actually go on a walk with them seemed amazing.

"You mean it?" Arthur asked, reaching for his father's hand. Albert nodded, and compiled, taking his son's hand. "Aye, of course. Come on boys, I'll take you on a little walk." He insisted.

The boys quickly accepted the offer, and Arthur's father led them on a small walk throughout the city. While Albert pampered them, Arthur couldn't help but notice the boys down the street as they were walking, and stopped when they reached a few good blocks away from the other boys. "I don't want to go that way, daddy." He grumbled, unhappy with the thought of going by the boys that called his eyebrows caterpillars and called his friend Francis a girl.

Albert chuckled in response. "Those boys go to your school, don't they? Why don't you say hello?" he asked. Arthur shook his head. "No, I don't want to." He stated. He could see them already whispering about them, and then turned his head to catch Francis frowning.

"Alright then, why don't I show you around my ship instead?" Albert offered. "Yes! Yes! I want to see the ship!" Arthur shouted excitedly, and thus Arthur's father took him to the ship instead.

* * *

The next day, though, Arthur was forced to go to school, despite how much he disliked the aspect of learning things. His parents insisted that he learn, at least try to, until he was ten and then took over the occupation he desired.

As Arthur began to walk to school, he stepped beside Francis, humming quietly as he did so. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad; maybe they wouldn't even bother him. As they stopped in front of the school, though, Arthur's hopes were diminished. Standing in front of the small schoolhouse were the last kids Arthur ever wanted to see.

Laughing and talking amongst each other, the kids turned their heads to Arthur and Francis as they approached. "Hey look! It's caterpillar and the girl!" one of the boys shouted. Arthur, as timid as he was, stood with his hands clutched. Francis was still taller than him, all the boys were. He must've looked like a young child compared to them.

"Give it a break, oui?" Francis asked, keeping his arms crossed against his chest. Despite the three age gap between them, Francis was Arthur's closet friend, and he could tell that Francis was uncomfortable about this situation.

Arthur was about ready to burst when the boys began to point to Arthur's eyebrows. "The pirate's son! What a pathetic excuse for a human being." They said to each other.

The thing that sealed their fate, though, was when they started pointing to Francis instead. "Look at him! The curly hair... she's a little French maiden, isn't she?" another young boy asked, laughing amongst each other as Francis kept his mouth clamped shut.

"I'm going to kick your ass!" Arthur shouted. The boys turned to him, somewhat surprised that such a young boy was talking up to them. One of them bent down and ruffled Arthur's head. "Hey look, he's wearing a mop!" the boy joked.

"Arthur-" Francis began, but Arthur was already far from being controlled. He reached out for the boy's shirt, and the boy blinked as Arthur reached in close and walloped him right on the head. The boy shouted in obvious discomfort, but Arthur was only beginning. Pulling the boy by the hair, he began kicking and huffing, putting even ounce into his physical strength.

"Arthur! Stop!" Francis shouted as Arthur attempted to smack the boy in the face again, but was soon grabbed by Francis, thus forced to cease his fighting. Arthur gritted his teeth as he watched the boys tend to their injured comrade, and Francis kept a firm hold of the back of his shirt to stop him from moving.

Arthur squirmed under his friend's clutches, and tried his hardest to free himself. "Let go of me!" he shouted, frowning unhappily as the boy who had been hit stood back up, frowning unhappily at Arthur. The young Brit could hear them mumble to each other, although the one who had been fighting with Arthur shook his head. "No, let's just leave him alone. Come on guys, class is starting soon!" he shouted, and turned his back to Arthur.

Exhausted, Arthur allowed Francis to hold him back until the other boy could be sure he wasn't going to run over them. "Arthur, are you okay? You look a little... upset." Francis observed, removing his hand from the back of the collar of Arthur's shirt. Arthur rubbed his eyes in response, frowning unhappily. "I-I'm okay." He muttered as Francis patted him on the back. "Do you want me to take you back home?" Francis asked.

Admittedly, it sounded wonderful to go back home. He knew someone would probably be home, and it wasn't as if he had to go to school every day. He nodded to Francis's question, and the older boy led him back home.

When Arthur arrived at his house, Madelyn frowned at his burning cheeks and sore fists. "Oh, honey, what happened?" she asked, turning her head as Arthur timidly stepped closer, with Francis at his side as what Arthur could consider "support."

"He fought one of the boys that were picking on him." Francis informed.

Albert walked in, chuckling when he saw Arthur's beet-red face and the tears forming at his cheeks. Albert kneeled down, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Did they tease you, Arthur?" he asked gently. Arthur nodded, his fists curling at his side. "And did you teach them?" he asked. Arthur nodded once more, and slowly raised his eyes to his father's, prepared to face his fury.

Albert sighed, thinking silently before he spoke. "Well, Arthur, in this world, you have to fight for what you want. Al little shred of respect takes you far places in this world, and if you feel you have to fight to prove yourself, then so be it. You did the right thing teaching those boys to behave themselves." he stated, then ruffled Arthur's head of hair.


	8. On Land

On Land

Arthur woke to the sound of people running across the deck outside, mixed in with shouts and countless voices. Arthur turned over in bed and dragged his pillow closer, groaning tiredly as he still attempted to sleep through all of this. It wasn't like he had an interest in exploring the new land anyways-his only goal of the day was to rest until his heart couldn't take it anymore and he woke up to visit the captain, if only to annoy him to wit's end. Yet, that didn't seem to be the way things were destined to go for Captain Kirkland, because the moment he let out a single groan, Johnson was on his tail.

"Mr. Kirkand! We've reached land!" Johnson shouted directly into his ear. Arthur didn't understand how it was that Johnson was so capable of continuously appearing at his side as he awoke, but he knew he wasn't enjoying the new treatment. He stuck a finger in his ear and rubbed it to ensure that he could still hear properly before sitting up in his seat, his eyes half-lidded as he scanned the room, searching for the intruder.

Arthur found the intruder seated next to him on his bed, and Arthur scowled the moment he realized Johnson was sharing a bed with him. "What do you want, boy? I'm busy sleeping." Arthur grumbled, scowling tiredly at the other pirate as he simply looked on with glee and joyous happiness knowing that captain Kirkland was finally awake... or at least half-awake. "But Arthur, don't you want to take a walk on land? You've probably been stuck on a ship as long as the rest of us have. Why don't you stretch your legs out and get a good taste of the food here? I heard the natives really know their way around a good glass of alcohol." He informed.

Despite how appealing a bottle of rum sounded, Arthur was in no mood to get out of bed, and he hadn't planned on doing so either. He began to lie back down when Johnson caught him by the arm, and he cast his eyes back up to the other pirate's to see how desperately Johnson wanted him to go on this little trip.

Johnson wore the sort of look that Arthur figured only he could pull off. The big, innocent brown eyes and the expectant smile just couldn't be ignored.

Arthur sighed, and began to sit back up. "Alright, boy, on one condition: I need to get me a different outfit, okay? I don't think this is very well going to work." He stated, gesturing back to his clothing. For one reason or another, Johnson hadn't remembered to get him a different outfit to change into, even after Arthur clearly stated so yesterday as well. And, other than the simple fact that Arthur wanted to get some ne clothing, it was the perfect method to getting Johnson out of his hair.

Johnson glanced down at Arthur's outfit in a look that Arthur would better associate with distaste before he nodded and stood from his spot next to Arthur on the bed. "Aye, will do, cap'n. I'll go get you a fresh pair of garments right away." He stated, with the designated air of an obedient mate.

Arthur lied himself back down and closed his eyes, smiling as he began to take another successful nap, supposing it would take Johnson quite a while before he came back with clothing that could actually suit such a renown pirate. He heard the door close and chuckled quietly, already counting the minutes until Johnson would return. When Johnson returned, though, Arthur was slightly surprised by what he saw.

Johnson shook Arthur awake once more, and when Arthur did so he did it very slowly, rubbing his eyes tiredly and mumbling things as Johnson produced the clothing Arthur had been wishing to see ever since he lost them on this dammed ship. As soon as Arthur's eyes were open, he placed them on the coat and hat offered to him by Johnson. His heart almost stopped beating when he reaslised these things were his. "Here, I also brought you a clean shirt and some trousers... I thought you might like them." Johnson offered, holding out the whole ensemble to Arthur.

Unable to help himself, Arthur grinned, graciously accepting the things that were offered to him. "Oh, thank you, Johnson! This is wonderful! But how did you ever get these things back?" he asked.

Johnson rubbed the back of his head in response, and Arthur was thinking that he was probably hiding something... but what? "I took them from Captain Jones. He said he was just going to toss them out, but I told him I could take care of them." he informed.

Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to be extremely upset with Alfred or extremely grateful that he was stupid enough to let Johnson take his beloved clothes. He hugged them to his chest, smelling the still-fresh scent of his favourite rum still on them. "Thank you, boy, now I have to change. I'd advise you to leave until I'm done." He warned, and Johnson was right to take that as his indication to leave.

The moment Johnson exited the room, Arthur began to change into the cleaner clothes, happily surprised when he found that the shirt and trousers he was offered fit him rather snugly; almost more snugly than his own clothing did. He slid his beloved coat back on, grinning when it fit around his agile frame and made him feel more like Arthur Kirkland. He then placed his hat back on the top of his head, feeling completed when the two prized possessions were now on his person. Arthur took one more cursory glance at himself, and then exited the room, finding Johnson waiting for him right outside the door.

"Come on, ! We have places to go!" he exclaimed. Arthur was still in the process of waking, and rubbed his eyes as Johnson spoke. Yes, Johnson retrieved the things he asked, although that didn't make Arthur any happier about his predicament. "What do you mean?" he asked, dragging his legs to follow Johnson as he treaded towards the surface of the ship. "Alfred is on the deck of the ship. Don't you want to talk to him?" he asked. Arthur silently thought over the offer, remembering how they had fought yesterday.

"Well..." Arthur began, grimacing as silence fell upon them, "I would rather _not_ speak to him. Are there any good pubs here?" he asked, attempting to lure Johnson's mind away from Alfred.

Johnson shook his head. "No, but there's plenty of boxes to carry and such. Alfred has decided to do some trading with the people here. We'll have more rum on board in no time. But, while we're waiting for that, wouldn't you like a nice glass of water?" he asked.

Arthur scowled at the offer. Who drank water? Rum was the way to go! "Come on, we'll just pass right by Alfred and instead go see this rum we're supposedly getting on land. Doesn't that sound good? You know where the crates are, don't you?" he retorted, waiting patiently for Johnson's response.

Johnson, with an extremely thoughtful look on his face, sealed his decision with a shake of his head. "I want to adventure the island." He stated.

Despite the fact that Arthur really wanted rum at the moment and felt sure he could do whatever was in his power to get some, Johnson's differing opinion made it difficult to simply ignore him and continue on his plan. Arthur hadn't frustrated this man yet, and Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to. Maybe it would be better to just give the wanker wanted now so the British captain wouldn't have to worry about him wanting things later. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest as he proposed a solution: "Fine, we'll get off this bloody ship and walk along the beach or something instead then." He replied, solving their slight difference in plans.

When Johnson nodded his head, Arthur felt relieved that the other had agreed that they go to check out the mainland. "Alright, let's go then, aye?" he asked, and began to walk to the higher areas of the ship with Johnson following not too far behind. Passing by other pirates, Arthur saw how refreshed and happy they were that they were back on land-or at least for a little while. Arthur fully understood how exhausting it could be to live on a ship for weeks on end, sometimes even a month if the situations may be.

When Arthur stood on the deck of the ship, he began to reaslise that maybe he had been on the ship too long. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel fresh air on his skin and be able to breathe without tasting sea salt on his tongue. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling just as refreshed as the other sailors were. The sun shone high in the sky, and Arthur was somewhat happy when he didn't have to face the waves of the ocean.

Arthur turned his head to speak to Johnson about the day when he noticed the look on Johnson's face, and followed the pair of eyes to some space behind him. He turned around, frowning at the American who now stood quite abruptly in front of him. "Hello, Kirkland. And what do you think you're doing? Where did you find those?" Alfred asked, pointing to Arthur's outfit. Arthur wasn't sure which question to answer first, and was still rather surprised that Alfred appeared out of almost nowhere to interrogate him. "Well," Arthur began, "Johnson gave these to me. I thought I'd reward him by taking him to get some rum." He informed, somewhat truthfully.

Alfred frowned in response, obviously unhappy with the information. "What? No, that won't do. You're not allowed to get off this ship. Help carry cargo r just go back into your room." He stated, pointing across the deck of the ship to where sailors were currently unloading cargo.

Not only was Arthur insulted by Alfred's comment, but it seemed Alfred still hadn't learned to respect him. The Brit scowled in response, unhappily shaking his head. "No, I'm not doing that. I'm going and you can't stop me." He stated, much like a child, as he placed his hands on his hips and widened out his stance to show his authority on the matter.

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest as Johnson began to speak. "Please, let's not fight. Maybe Arthur can do it when he comes back." He suggested.

Poor boy. Didn't he know that wasn't going to work? Alfred chuckled, his voice bellowing into Arthur's ears rather annoyingly. "As if he would be responsible enough to actually do some work. I bet he wouldn't even come back onto the ship if I allowed him to do so. No, he's staying here, Johnson." He stated, treating Johnson like a captain should.

Arthur didn't enjoy seeing Alfred doing his job, mostly because he had never really considered Alfred a good captain. "Well, that's rather disrespectful of you. I thought you'd know how to speak to your superiors." Arthur stated as he glared back at Alfred, and soon found himself in a glaring match with him.

"Superior?" Alfred asked, arching an eyebrow. "You think you could be considered my superior? You don't even have a crew to call your own anymore!" he exclaimed.

Arthur gritted his teeth and scowled at the American for his witty remark. "I _do_ have a crew, Mr. Jones. Unlike you, my men actually know how to manage themselves." He stated, and with that spun on his heel and marched back to the underbellies of the ship.

Johnson chased after him, shouting his name as he ran. "Arthur! Arthur! What are you doing? What happened to our plan?" he asked, panting slightly by the time he had reached Arthur's side. Arthur kept his hands on his hips as he walked, his eyes squinted uncomfortably as he did so. "I'm not going over there when I'm only wasting my time with that stupid American." He grumbled, bowing his head as he walked. Yes, it proved Alfred had won this match and had undoubtedly managed to turn Arthur back... _this_ time.

Johnson frowned slightly. "Then what are you going to do today?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged helplessly, placing a hand underneath his coat as he searched for the weapons he had strapped to them, just then wondering if they were still there. "Maybe I'll go back later." He mumbled, his fingers latching themselves onto the handle of a gun. A shadow of a smirk crawled itself on his face, yet he forced it back to stop Johnson from noticing anything about what he was acting.

Johnson huffed slightly in response, bowing his head. "Oh. Well, I have to carry to carry crates to and from the ship for the day. I hope the best for you, then..." he replied, while Arthur couldn't help but see the frown on his face.

Arthur tilted his head, the thought of Johnson being upset with him striking him as odd as the other pirate was walking away. What was such a turn-off to the other? Was it because he was so eager to spend time with Arthur, or did he just not want to work alone? Arthur scoffed softly under his breath, and continued walking to his room. No matter, Johnson was the least of his worries. Arthur had a plan to put into tuition, starting at nightfall.

* * *

When Arthur awoke, he automatically turned to his window to see a gentle orange sheen to the horizon. He stretched his arms over his head and then stood up, comfortably situating his hat atop his head to fit more snugly as he walked across his cell to the door, creaking it open to find it was unlocked. He stepped out, and when he found practically no one on the lower levels of the ship, he decided it would be best to search the deck of the ship. Had all the pirates decided to take a rest on land? He knew it was feasible for all of them to do so, although the Brit didn't consider it all that wise.

Arthur made his way to the deck of the ship, still finding the same silence as he had on the lower decks of the ship. Where was everyone? When Arthur turned his head, though, his question was answered. He saw the lights glittering not too far away, and realised that all of the wankers that were _supposed_ to be on the ship had decided to have a party of sorts. Were they celebrating the fact that they had captured him, or were they just happy to be on land? Arthur huffed as he thought over all the ludicrous reasons there could be for being absent on Alfred's ship, and crossed his arms over his chest. Well, he'd show them.

Arthur stepped off of the ship and began to walk towards the other pirates, unable to think of anything other than the fact that these idiots had abandoned him. Arthur grumbled rants as he walked, ignoring the distant call for his name. He had barely heard the other's voice, too wrapped up in searching for Johnson, when there was a tap on his shoulder and he gasped.

"Arthur." the voice was familiar, but not the one Arthur wanted to hear. God, why did it have to be Alfred? Arthur paused when the voice ceased, seriously considering whether or not he should turn around when Alfred appeared in front of him, and the only thing Arthur could do was gasp again.

"Arthur!" Alfred repeated, and Arthur brought his eyes back up to the American, now grimacing unhappily. "Goodness, don't scare me like that!" he scolded, glaring at the man seen before him. "Don't you know I don't want to speak with you? Go away." He grumbled, trying his best to pass by Alfred, although his attempts seemed rather fruitless.

Alfred deliberately stepped back in front of Arthur, and Arthur scowled in response. "I'm the captain of the ship you are currently supposed to be on. You are going to have to speak with me whether you want to or not." he stated, smirking happily with the knowledge that he was correct. Arthur took another chance to try and step past him again, yet Alfred still decided against it and stepped in front of him... _again_. "Arthur, you should go back on the ship." The American persisted.

Frustrated, Arthur raised his eyes to meet Alfred's gaze, a passionate annoyance showing in his emerald eyes. "Stop hanging that over my head, you git. I know you're the captain, but if you really think _that_ can stop me from doing what I want, you might just be more of a bloody iodit than I first thought you were." He scolded, forcibly shoving past Alfred to finally get past the stupid American.

Alfred caught at his arm, and Arthur thrust his head back. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he hissed, frowning unhappily.

Alfred shrugged, and let go of his arm. "I wanted to talk to you, and this seemed like a better idea than any to catch your attention." Alfred reasoned, shrugging nonchalantly. Arthur was ready to scold him for touching his arm, but just decided to keep walking anyways. Arthur yanked his arm back and kept walking, concluding that it was about time to investigate what the others were doing partying without him. He stepped away from the American to weave himself through the crowd of prates that were all having a jolly time.

Thankfully, after a little bit of searching, Arthur found Johnson, and the current altercation he was thinking about merely dropped from his thoughts. He grabbed Johnson by his arm, which seemed to surprise him quite a bit, and in the process of turning almost spilled a whole jug of beer on the poor Brit.

Johnson's eyes lit up when he realized it was Arthur, and he lowered his rum to give Arthur a good slap on the back. "Oi! Arthur! Where have you been?" he asked.

Unaccommodated to Johnson's touching, Arthur took a step back from the boy's hands. "I was sleeping until I realized all of you wankers left me in the ship by meeself, and then Alfred decided to attempt to keep me locked in there forever." He replied, his eyebrows dragged down on his forehead and his arms crossed over his chest to display just how much he disliked the pirate.

The other pirate took a quick glance at Arthur's body language, putting Arthur's already sour mood into account before he spoke: "Did you and Alfred get in another fight?" he asked.

For Arthur, the question could only be answered one of two ways: he could tell the truth and be completely honest with himself, or he could act like he had no idea what Johnson was talking about. Arthur Kirkland didn't fight people anyways. Well, he did, but not like this. When Arthur fell silent, obviously unable to face the reality that Johnson knew what was going on. Was it really that obvious that he and Alfred had been arguing again? Johnson tapped him on the shoulder, and he managed to stir up a voice loud enough for Johnson to hear him: "Nay, just a little bit of a... misunderstanding." He decided to call it.

Johnson arched an eyebrow at the response, and didn't seem to take to the lie. "Hm? Well, now that you're here, don't you want a nice bottle of rum?" he asked, and persisted to offer Arthur a container of his favourite liquid. Arthur could've always refused, but rum was delicious, and what was a better method for draining your worries than a bottle of rum? The Brit gratefully accepted the drink and automatically took a big swig out of it.

With a big swallow, Arthur let out a big sigh, then lowered his rum and opened his mouth to begin what could very well be a potential rant. "Tell me, boy, why is it that all the other men I've met on Alfred's ship are arses except for you?" he asked.

Johnson didn't seem to know how to answer the question, and simply blinked in response. He scratched the back of his head as he spoke. "That's a good question..." he mumbled, thinking it over silently in his head. Arthur, on the other hand, had no time to waste intoxicating himself and took another swig from his rum. Now that he thought about it... Johnson didn't seem to fit the bill of a pirate, so what was he doing on Alfred's ship at all? He'd have to ask Alfred about it when the American came to his senses.

Johnson offered another drink, and Arthur continued to drink until he was sure he was going to get sick. His slurred voice and lazy disposition spoke for itself. He reached over and slung an arm over Johnson's shoulder as he sang off-tune pirate chanties. Everything was feeling a lot better than it was yesterday. "Arthur, are you okay?" Johnson muttered, glancing down at him.

Arthur chuckled, swinging his bottle of rum in the air. "Oi! Got 'rself a good head on yer shoulders, aye?" he asked, dragging Johnson down when he transferred all his weight onto the other's side.

Johnathan, unable to withstand both of their weights, began to topple over, grabbing at Arthur for some sort of support.

The only thing the two managed to prevent was actually being able to stand. Arthur tumbled on top of the other, chuckling incessantly. "Arthur-" Johnson began, although Arthur quickly flattened himself against the other pirate, still chuckling into his ear. Honestly, rum was such a wonderful thing. The brit sighed contently when he was comfortable, placing his arms on top of the other's chest. He read Johnson's reddened face and cocked his head to the side.

"Hm?" Arthur hummed in question, leaning forward. "What's got you in a knot?" he asked, although Johnson' expression only seemed to worsen. Arthur was about to speak when something grabbed at the back of his collar and he yelped, quickly turning his head to see that it was, of course, Alfred.

The American was looking more frustrated than Arthur was expecting. Arthur huffed and squirmed underneath the American's strong grip, puffing out his cheeks as he attempted to free himself. "Arthur, what do you think you're doing?" Alfred asked, his scolding voice returning from earlier. Maybe it was just how Arthur was used to picturing Alfred now, all frustrated and upset, or maybe it was because Alfred was feeling actual aggravation knowing that Arthur was doing some rather unwanted things with his mate Johnson. Arthur, however, filled with alcohol and simply unable to grasp the air of the situation, simply smiled on as the American pirate frowned.

"Arthur, do you have any idea what a bad idea it is to play with Johnson like that?" Alfred asked. Arthur chuckled in response, clutching at Alfred's arm. "You bloody git... no respect, have you?" he asked.

For a moment, Alfred hesitated, and then he asked the question: "Is that what this is about?"

Although still in his alcohol-filled stat, Arthur could understand what Alfred was saying. He shook his head, scowling unhappily. It was... but it wasn't like he could tell Alfred that. He didn't want Alfred thinking anything about his doubts, and simply took in a deep breath as his mind tried to grasp for a reasonable response. "You don't..." he began, although any hope that Arthur would reveal why would soon be dashed by the fact that he was becoming too tired to even hold himself upright. He looked slightly discombobulated, but then just began to smile.

Arthur chuckled gently as he hung by Alfred's arm, sighing contently when his eyes dropped close and he muttered slurred curses. He could hear Alfred speaking, but all he could think to do was close his eyes and take a momentary rest.


	9. Reflections from the Past

Reflections from the Past

Arthur Kirkland woke to the feeling of someone shaking him by the shoulders. He groaned, feeling bile rising in his throat as he was shaken, a voice shouting in his ear. He gripped the other's arm, his headache so powerful that he could barely utter words from his mouth. The voice carried on, incessantly, and Arthur's stomach twisted in knots as he spoke: "Shut up!" he shouted, panting as he tried to control the overweening sickness that was overtaking him, while momentarily silencing the stranger who was shouting his name.

Arthur felt hands slip around his waist, and cringed at the thought of who it could be. The only people Arthur could think of that would do such a thing would be Johnson or Alfred, or some other stupid pirate that thought they had enough guts _not_ to get smacked in the face. There weren't a lot of people out there that Arthur _wouldn't _hit.

Only able to spare the stranger an exhausted groan, the senses began to return to Arthur's overly numb body as he was dragged across a very rough surface. The pain was beginning to become almost unbearable, mostly because the pounding in Arthur's skull was only increasing in ferocity the more conscious he grew to be.

"...You have to get him on that ship, _right now,"_ the voice was blurred but the alert undertone of their voice still rang though Arthur's ears. A male voice, probably- Arthur wasn't sure who, though.

Slinging his head to the side, Arthur groaned again, painfully opening a single eye to get a good glance of where he was. The sun that greeted him, though, felt about ten times more powerful than it usually was. "Shite!" Arthur shouted, and struggled to free his arms so it could cover his exposed eyes.

There was a shout, and then Arthur's arms were unjustly dragged away from his face. Arthur opened his eyes, cracking them slightly open to see the pirates attempting to drag him onto Alfred's ship. Arthur struggled to get a hold of the stranger's arm, but once he did he hoisted himself to his feet, despite how badly everything was hurting and the fact that the men holding him were working against him.

"Alfred!" the wrangled call to the captain of the ship was both a warning and a begging-a begging to get these men off of him, and a warning that, if they didn't let go, there was going to be trouble.

The other pirates jerked Arthur's arm back down and, after quite a bit of struggling, managed to drag Arthur onto the deck of the ship. Almost as abruptly as the pirates had come, though, they dropped Arthur's arms and his head bounced right off the hard wood of the ship. The Brit groaned with agony as he felt his skull burn with pain, and he rolled over on the deck to expose his eyes to the sun. How long had he been unconscious? A couple hours, a day... _two_ _days_? God, all he knew was that everything hurt extremely badly for it to have been no less than at least a day.

Arthur felt a kick in his stomach, and the piercing pains made him roll back over, clutching at his aggrieved gut to somehow soothe it. "Goddamn it! Stop that!" Arthur shouted, thrusting his head back so he could catch sight of the pirate that had kicked him. When Arthur's eyes rested on the stranger standing over him, it took him a moment to actually see the man... then, the sun glinted from the man's olive arms and Arthur registered the stranger who kicked him as Tim. Arthur would've wanted nothing less than to stand and fight that man, although he was currently incapacitated as far as standing went. The Brit kept his eyes closed as he attempted to get some more sleep out of his day, but when feet kept pushing at his side it just couldn't be ignored.

The second Arthur gained enough consciousness and strength to move, he did so, bringing himself to a sitting position. He propped himself against one of the masts of the ship, giving Tim one of the most spiteful looks he could muster.

While Tim was in the process of opening his mouth, Alfred arrived on the deck of the ship behind him, and Arthur scrambled to hoist himself to his feet. His hands stung as they slid across the deck of the ship, then gripped the mast as he stood. Arthur leaned heavily against the mast as Tim approached, and Arthur clutched the side of his head as his emerald eyes glared at Alfred.

"Tim!" Alfred shouted as he marched over to them, and Arthur's fingers burned as his hands clutched at the wood underneath his fingertips.

Tim turned his head back to Alfred as he neared closer, and Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Leave us be, Tim." Alfred ordered, his eyes serious with the daunting threats whirring inside Arthur's skull. He was going to get punished for something, wasn't he? That bastard...

But when Alfred turned his eyes on to him, Arthur felt so vulnerable it was almost sickening. He simply glared back as Alfred spoke, and the Brit tired his very hardest to listen without being frustrated. "Arthur," Alfred began, "I know you're having a really bad hangover... can you walk?" he asked as he slowly approached the Brit.

Arthur held out a hand as he leaned away, indicating just how much he didn't need Alfred's assistance. He could stand on his own. "I can handle myself, Jones." He growled, although Alfred's chuckling seemed to prove him wrong. "Arthur," he began taking another prohibited step forward, "if you're having troubles, let me help you to my room-"

"Your room?! Alfred, I'm not interested right now..." Arthur interrupted, wincing when his head began to pound even more than he had wanted it to in the first place. Shouting had really done a number on him.

Alfred chuckled happily and reached forward for Arthur's hand, although Arthur swiped it back before the grimy American could get his tarnished fingers on the Brit. "No, I'm not talking about _that_, Arthur. I need to talk to you about something personal. But nothing sexual." He replied with a slight smirk.

Lowering his arm, Arthur's eyes narrowed at the American. It didn't look like he was lying... well, Arthur could still defend himself if anything went wrong, at least. "Fine, just make it quick. I'm not feeling too well..." he mumbled. Alfred generously reached for the Brit's arm, and this time Arthur allowed him to hold it as the other guided Arthur to the captain's quarters. Arthur was not at all enjoying this new treatment, although he concluded it was time he attempt a normal conversation with this person, no matter how difficult that would be to do...

"Alfred," Arthur began, although it pained him to speak, "did one of you wankers do something to me while I was unconscious?" he asked. He certainly didn't think drinking a couple jugs of rum would have this sort of effect on hm. Wasn't he supposed to have only a little rest?

He watched Alfred's expression for any twisted, evil smirk or grin, but instead he just found an oddly thoughtful look on the other's face. He was obviously seriously pondering the question when he came up with a reasonable solution: "Once you fell unconscious, Johnson insisted that you have a rest. You seemed extremely dangerous to yourself and others in that sort of state, so I had you rest at a nearby inn for what seemed like that night and the rest of the day. Before I knew it, the next day rolled around and you weren't awake yet, so I had some pirates drag you over here. I didn't mean literally, really... but they said you were very heavy for a man who looked so light." He informed.

But of course, those bastard pirates always had to have an excuse of some sort. Arthur's eyebrows shot down on his face, and he grimaced, obviously not in the mood to hear excuses. "I am _not_ heavy, Alfred. And believe me, those bastards who thought it was a good idea to drag me around are going to get theirs." He grumbled. Alfred chuckled as he neared the captain's quarters, and generously opened the door for Arthur. "Maybe when you can walk properly," he mumbled, to which Arthur dismissively ignored the other's comment.

Arthur stepped into the captain's quarters to see that the space was not very well-furnished. Arthur grumbled several complaints to himself as he sat on Alfred's bed, and Alfred seated himself in a chair not too far away from Arthur. "Arthur..." Alfred began, lacing his fingers on his lap, "I don't think you understand how important you are to me." He informed.

For a moment, Arthur was completely taken aback. He was surprised, confused, but even worse, he was outraged. What was he talking about? As if he was actually important to this freeloader, who had shown on more than just one occasion that he wasn't interested in helping the brit out. After that little stunt Alfred pulled with the chores and all the ignorance Arthur was given, he was expected to believe the American when he said he was important to this captain?

The words really woke Arthur up, that was for sure. He crossed his arms over his chest, his emerald gaze flicking over the American. Maybe he was joking- yes, that was it. Alfred was simply trying to press his buttons- and it was working.

"I understand, Mr. Jones. I am an asset that is worth a lot of money, thus you don't want me to get hurt..." he attempted to state, as if reassuring him that the captain hadn't gone crazy.

Alfred chuckled, the same annoying smile still on his face like it had always been. "Arthur," he began, "that's not what I'm talking about." He informed.

Arthur felt his heart drop. So he was right, Alfred was just being an ignorant arsehole. "Look, boy, I understand that we haven't spoken much, but I do _not_, by any means, consider you a _friend_. So I'd suggest you do not attempt to flatter me with such nonsense the next time we talk." he stated.

"But Arthur," Alfred began, a frown curling itself onto his lips, "I'm being serious. I apologise for allowing you to get in that fight with Tim. I'm sorry I had you fight me when you weren't feeling well-"

"So you _did_ know! What makes you think I want to accept your apology when you've been such an idiot to me?" Arthur interrupted, definitely making the situation worse than it should've been. He clutched his hands on his lap as his head began pounding out of his head, and the Brit kept his mouth sealed as he strained to hear a response from Alfred.

Alfred let out a gentle sigh before he once again took a shot at apologising: "Arthur. Now I know that we aren't on the best terms at the moment. I know you don't enjoy the way I've been treating you, and I thought that this apology would be a good way to make it up to you." he stated, raising a hand to silence Arthur when he began talking again, "I just want you to understand that I don't intend to hurt you, okay? Can you at least do that one favour for me?" he asked.

The simple task Arthur was proposed with facing was nothing if not a breeze to the Brit, but no, he wasn't going to give up his grudge with the American just yet. "I _could_, but I won't. I'm not interested in your charity." Arthur stated, knowing he was being unjust when Alfred's face fell. "Arthur, give me a chance to fix the mistake I've made." he stated.

It was true that Alfred made a pretty big mistake when he decided to spar with Arthur, but even before then they weren't on the best of terms. Arthur attempted to hoist himself to his feet, still listening to Alfred's voice as he did so.

"I just want to be able to make amends." Alfred stated, his voice gentle and reasoning.

Arthur felt as if he was going to be sick, sicker than he was currently feeling. "Likely story." he grumbled as he hoisted himself back to his feet, although with his head hurting the way it was he didn't think he was going to be able to walk any further than a couple footsteps without collapsing.

Alfred seemed to notice this issue, and stood up to grab Arthur by one of his arms. "Bloody hell! Don't touch me!" Arthur shouted, and yanked his arm back from Alfred's grasp. The American huffed in response and lowered his hand. "Why don't you stay here and rest? I can't get paid if you're dying." He reasoned.

With a robust shake of his head, Arthur lowered his arm and directed his sights to the door that would lead him out of this accursed room. "Bloody fucking hell, Alfred, I'm not interested in making amends with you! My head hurts, and I'm tired of all of this shite! Just leave me be!" the Brit shouted, barely sparing Alfred a glance as he took another step, almost certain he was going to fall.

Sapphire eyes blinking in astonishment, Alfred's face reamined expressionless for a good while before he began to laugh. "Oh, Arthur, you can be such a timid man sometimes." he mused, then grabbed Arthur's wrist again. Arthur attempted at pulling it away, but in his feeble state he considered even that too difficult to do at the moment. "Alfred," he stated, grunting when Alfred's grip tightened.

"You should stay here, Arthur. Rest up a bit. You're not looking too hot right now." Alfred observed, his grip loosening when Arthur seethed.

Alfred was right- The Brit definitely didn't feel well. He lowered his wrist and let out a tired sigh. No matter how much he hated the American, he still needed some rest. "You'd better not do anything, Alfred. Just because I'm staying here to rest doesn't mean I accept your apology." he warned, his eyes warning Alfred with a forebodingly bright shine.

The American was quick to nod in confirmation, then let go of Arthur's wrist. "Stay here as long as you like. I have business on this ship anyways." he replied, offering Arthur one of his classical smiles.

Arthur simply let out a huff in response, and stepped aside to allow Alfred to pass. "Go on, get out. You'll tarnish my sleep if you stay here anyways." he grumbled.

It was as if Alfred thought he had already won the argument. He smiled back at Arthur then turned to the door. "I do so hope you'll reconsider what we spoke about today. Maybe when I return you'll have a new change of heart?" he suggested.

The Brit rolled his eyes in response, but made no inclination that he was actually going to speak with Alfred. With a heavy sigh, Arthur dropped himself on to the other's bed and lied down, hearing Alfred exit with a shut of the door. He closed his eyes and, after a hesitant hiatus, Arthur found himself asleep, mostly due to his exhaustion from the recent pain he had took and the thoughts still rattling his mind.

What a wanker... to think that he'd actually consider anything he said... at least the bed felt good enough to sleep on.


	10. Waking in the Night

Waking in the Night

Arthur Kirkland woke around midnight, rolling over to feel his head for any signs of pain still left over from his hangover several days ago. The beating the Brit took the day prior was still making moving around difficult, but not impossible. The Brit hefted himself into a sitting position, his eyes half-lidded as he drowsily observed his surroundings. Ah, so he was still in the captain's quarters, where he admitted he best belonged.

But apprehension still trickled through Arthur's body; something was wrong, he could just tell. He slid off of Alfred's bed and cautiously took the couple steps forward it would require to reach the door and slip out of the captain's quarters. The Brit took several steps towards the door, resting a hand against the wooden frame as he reached for the doorknob and opened the door. The brit then took one slow step out of the room, his eyes searching the current floor for any possible obstacles that would stop him from his ultimate mission: the deck of the ship. There probably wasn't going to be land for days, but if there was, Arthur Kirkland would be able to find them. That, and Arthur didn't want to give the captain the smug satisfaction of knowing he had been sleeping in the other's bed for at least a full day.

After the Brit concluded that nothing was stopping him from walking to the higher floors of the ship, he did so, silently prowling past the pirates' cabins and many other barrels and crates, silently treading several flights of stairs before they finally ceased, and the Brit found himself on the deck of the ship, the smell of the sea hard in his nostrils and the gentle sloshing of the ocean the only noise for miles. After all that walking, Arthur reacted with a gentle sigh and a wipe of his forehead, finally relieved to be out in the open where he could breathe easy again.

The beautiful night reflected itself across the deck of the ship and continued across the length of the ocean before Arthur, the dark colors of the deck painted a gentle shadow of its former self. Arthur rather enjoyed the nightlife because of the fact that it was so beautiful, and he could stand on the deck of his ship in almost complete solitude, the only distraction the beautiful scenery there to accommodate him. Arthur knew now was perfect to find some time for himself as well, and walked the length of the ship as he watched the ocean slosh against the hull of the ship. It was so gentle, so soothing...

What wasn't soothing, though was the touch that came out of nowhere, and the hand that suddenly rested on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's initial reaction was to panic and hit first ask questions later, and he was in the midst of hitting the stranger when the other held up his hands in defense. "It's just Alfred; no need to attack!" he exclaimed.

Arthur lowered his fist, although the grave dislike of what the other did was still on his face. Alfred's blue eyes shone in the moonlight, and Arthur wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the look, but he wasn't about to keep a close eye on Alfred to get a better look of what he was actually seeing. Instead, the Brit crossed his arms over his chest and kept his mouth closed for a short while. He certainly didn't want to speak with the American at the moment, but now he was forced to. "You shouldn't scare a pirate captain like that, you bloody twat. Do you know how aggravating it is to be surprised like that? I could've hurt you very severely, you must know." He scolded.

The only palpable response Arthur earned from the American captain was a grin and another pat on the shoulder, which Arthur was not quick to enjoy. "Don't worry, Arthur, I didn't intend to surprise you on purpose. I promise it won't happen again. And yes, I am aware of your well-honed capability to harm people that surprise you. It's to be expected from the Great Arthur Kirkland." He informed, then removed his hand from Arthur's shoulder when he was gifted with the look of vehemence on Arthur's face from being touched.

Arthur's expression softened as soon as the hand was gone, although the grimace was still there, since the Brit was not at all taken with the- what some would call- comment. He simply crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step back from the stupid American. "I don't bloody care. Just don't get near me, because I very much dislike you right now and I'd prefer you keep your space." He warned, expecting Alfred to be quick to take notice of his comment. Arthur had hoped Alfred would leave at the tip of a hat when he was warned from the Brit, but it didn't seem Alfred cared, even when he voiced his knowledge on how dangerous the Brit could be.

The American grinned simply in response, leaning over to rest his arms on the rim of the ship, apparently oblivious to Arthur's warnings. "So as long as I keep my space, that means we can talk, yeah?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in complete and innocuous curiosity.

Arthur bit at his lip when Alfred showed him his big, innocent smile, and gradually began to give up fighting that happy grin. He wasn't entirely sure what Alfred wanted to tell him, but he wasn't about to just flat out ask. It was rather annoying that Alfred found a loophole to his statement, but Arthur supposed that was what he got for not being entirely harsh with the man. "Well, I'm here. Speak." He stated, stiffening his posture to indicate how impatient he was, and how he didn't plan on becoming comfortable any time soon.

Alfred's eyes lit up, and he appeared to be more than eager to speak with him. Arthur once again rolled his eyes as Alfred began to speak, although the words coming from Alfred's mouth sounded more sincere than he had expected them to be. "Arthur... I know you're extremely annoyed with me. But is there any way we could talk as friends?" he inquired, hopefully only as a suggestion.

Arthur was completely bewildered. He didn't understand why Alfred wanted this so badly, and he wasn't very much looking forward to speaking with him now. At least the Brit's head hadn't begun to ache yet, and he felt a little better, although he was still as starving, if not more starving, than he had been yesterday, probably because of his lack of eating. But aside from that, Arthur had more pressing matters to attend to, such as this American he was currently speaking to. "Well, I suppose I can manage such a thing if you are willing to treat me accordingly. But go ahead, is there anything else you want to tell me?" he insisted.

At first, Alfred scratched the back of his head as he searched for something to say. "I don't want to spend any more of the time with you here arguing with you. I think this is a great opportunity to make a useful ally, you know, for the time that you're still around." He stated, offering Arthur another winsome smile.

Now Alfred wasn't just talking about being friends, but being allies as well? As true as Alfred's suggestion sounded, Arthur still focused on the chance that Alfred might've been lying or just trying to cheat the Brit out of a good explanation. In all truth, though, it didn't sound like Alfred was lying. Why would he lie just to make himself look a little worse?

Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur squinted his eyes at Alfred to get a good look at him in the dark. He didn't look to be lying either, although Arthur didn't have a very good idea of what Alfred was like when he was lying. "Oi, that might be true, and I may permit you to act as my ally, but you are not to trick me by using me!" he exclaimed, expecting Alfred to frown when he was caught in the act of abusing their arranged relationship.

But instead, Alfred's expression seemed to soften, and he smirked at Arthur's attempts to thwart his ideas. "No, Arthur. I truly think it would be pleasant if you stopped arguing with me constantly." He responded.

"_Me_ arguing with _you_? You've been arguing with _me_ ever since I got here!" Arthur stubbornly exclaimed, quickly to defend himself against Alfred's poor word choice.

There was another chortle from the American, and he reached over to slap Arthur on the shoulder. "Oi! You know what I mean, don't you?" he asked. "Just tell me you'll do it so both of us can go back to our respectable beds and speak to each other in the morning, okay? Or else if you don't, I'll just keep bothering you until you _do_ say yes!" he informed.

There was a sinking feeling in Arthur's chest when he realized that Alfred was right. The American was so persistent that yes, he'd keep nagging the Brit till he finally succeeded in making a new ally. Alfred probably purposely intended to make his words sound like a threat and not an actual offer, and Arthur disliked how that worked to a great extent, but he supposed there was no way in ignoring it. He'd have to give in if he felt like sleeping at all tonight.

After Arthur had finally decided to give the American a chance with this flawed logic he was presented, he decided to let Alfred know that he wasn't intent on harming him anymore. "Okay, if you want to be my 'ally,' so be it. I have no problems with it because it really doesn't affect me very much. As long as you don't allow any of your bloody crewmates to bother me anymore, I suppose I could endure this sort of relationship with you." He informed.

The words seemed to comfort Alfred greatly, because his grin brightened, and Arthur simply responded with a roll of his eyes. "You won't regret this, Mr. Kirkland." He stated, his expression shifting in the slightest way. Arthur saw the smirk on the captain's lips, and he found it strange to see it there. He highly doubted Alfred was concocting some sort of plan for him, no, but even so there was something about Alfred's expression that was more mature than it had been throughout this whole conversation.

Feigning a yawn, Arthur nodded along to what Alfred was saying, sparing the other a smirk at the use of the word 'Mr.' at the beginning of his name. "Really, Mr. Jones, it's nothing." He assured, then turned back towards the lower decks of the ship. "I think it's about time I hit the hay, though. Maybe we should talk again when I don't feel as tired." He offered, assuming Alfred would agree.

And Alfred did, with a slight yawn of his own and a nod of his head. "Aye, I'll have a few things to do, but I'm positive I'll find some time to speak with you." He stated.

Arthur, of course, enjoyed the offer, and uncrossed his arms from over his chest. "Of course you will have time for me." He stated cockily, turning on his heel to walk back to the old room he was keeping, where he could rest for another few solid hours, the hours that would probably help him reclaim his usual schedule.

Alfred walked beside him as he treaded back to his room as well. "Have a good night, Arthur. No doubt you're going to have a big day tomorrow." He muttered, then passed by, allowing Arthur to walk the rest of the way by himself.

He supposed Alfred wasn't such a terrible person... he was annoying, definitely, but he still wasn't entirely what Arthur had expected. Arthur treaded back to his cellar-like room, feeling a little more at ease after all of Alfred's attempts to get on his nice side. As Arthur walked down the dark and lonely halls of the ship, he considered all of Alfred said, and began to wonder if he was really being sincere. He soon reached the door to his room and swung it open, plodding to the bed and soon collapsing on it, falling asleep with the simple close of his eyes.

* * *

Arthur woke early in the morning, turning over in his bed with a light sigh. Well, at least he didn't have to fret about any pirates bothering him, since it seemed clear to the Brit now that Alfred wouldn't allow any of those things to happen to him.

Soon enough, the Brit was out of bed and walking around, stretching his arms over his head and yawning as he walked around the lower portions of the ship, soon reappearing on the deck of the ship to greet his newly found companion.

Alfred wasn't too bad a guy. He was just extremely annoying and made a very stupid mistake when he decided to bribe some of Arthur's crewmates to work for him. But that was all in the past, and Arthur was almost completely over it. Now all he had to do was get used to being friends with Alfred instead of being his foe, or considering anything the other did in the past as insulting or wrong. The two were going to be allies, after all.

After a cursory glance around, Arthur decided his best bet would be to look back at the wheel of the ship. Even if Alfred wasn't there, Arthur was sure he'd find some way to find the other. On Arthur's trek to the wheel, though, he caught eye of Johnson, and was quick to walk over to the pirate and open his mouth.

"Oi! Johnson! Do you know where Alfred is?" he asked, which seemed to surprise the pirate, because he flinched, and slowly turned his eyes back to Arthur as if he was seeing a ghost.

With a grin, Arthur enjoyed the way Johnson reacted to his question, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, Johnson? Have you missed me?" he asked with a cocky grin, undeniably jubilated that he found his old companion.

Johnson, on the other hand, simply rubbed the back of his head and frowned. "Oh, um... hello, cap'n Kirkland." He muttered, his eyes cast away from Arthur. Arthur noticed the lack of attention, but didn't bother to get too much into it. Johnson probably didn't want him asking questions anyways, considering the way the other was acting. "Well... as I was asking, do you know where Alfred is?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

For a moment, Arthur didn't think Johnson was going to tell him the answer. Johnson hesitated, then he simply gave Arthur a shrug, which Arthur had to admit was not very helpful. "Well, I saw him earlier, but now I don't really know where he is." Johnson replied, and Arthur felt the need to slap himself on his forehead.

Arthur really didn't think Johnson actually wanted to help him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his own attitude turning a bit bitter when he considered the reasons for this attitude. "Are you _sure_ you don't know where he is? That you're not lying to me?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows curling downwards on his forehead.

Johnson looked a little frightened that Arthur was going to do something to him, but then he let out a small, defeated sigh and began to speak, albeit with a little more honesty in his choice of words. "Ah, I saw him going to the map room, right over there in that cabin, the last time I looked." He informed, his voice somewhat solemn as he spoke. It was strange to Arthur that he was not as forthcoming as the normal Johnson probably would be.

That was beside the point, though. Now that Arthur knew where the captain was, or where Johnson claimed him to be, the Brit could finally go there and speak to him. Surely Alfred had some sort of chore for him to do or something to say to him-Alfred did, after all, mention speaking to him yesterday. There were plenty of things to assess as well. Arthur's skills were some of the best he knew of, and surely there was some way he and Alfred could come to an agreement of sorts on how to manage his capabilities on the ship.

Arthur followed his eyes to where Johnson indicated the map room was, the cabin underneath the quarter deck of the ship. He marched over to the two double doors, taking just a short glance at them before he knocked on the hardwood, and after several loud noises that sounded like shuffling and he unlocking of doors Alfred was standing in front of him with an easily identifiable exhaustion on his face.

It wasn't that Alfred's face was sunken or that he was depressed, but his did appear to look a little worn, and the captain appeared to be very busy working, as he had some maps in his arms once he opened the door for Arthur. And Arthur had to admit, he looked a little ruffled. Well, a little more than usual, anyways.

The Brit offered the American a smile as he stepped into the other's map room to see that it was a fine mess. Of course, he hadn't been expecting everything to be nice and neat, but he wasn't expecting a complete mess, either. The place had maps neatly organized in a pile on the edge of the American's desk, except for a few that were unrolled and placed on Alfred's desk, books were placed on each corner to keep the map in place, with several tools Arthur was well-acquainted with placed on the top of the map.

Alfred returned to his spot in front of the map, setting the other maps back down in their designated spots on the edge of his desk. "Is there something I can help you with?" Alfred asked, his eyes trained on the map in front of him. The map was, assumingly, of Arthur's ending destination on what appeared to be one of the settlements near the Barbary Coast. He grimaced at the thought of finally reaching land and getting tortured...

"Arthur," Alfred repeated, his voice more stern than Arthur had been expecting. Arthur turned his head back to the American as he repeated his question: "Do you want something?" he asked.

Arthur reached over and placed an elbow on the map as he spoke, positioning his body so he felt a little more at ease. "Oi, are you a corsair? A privateer?" he asked, attempting to approach the question as casually as possible.

A corsair, or privateer, was a pirate commissioned by the government to attack ships usually arranged near the coast of North Africa*. Arthur was fully aware that wartime was the worst time to go sailing on the seas because of the threat of getting captured, and he knew the chances of Alfred being a corsair were pretty high, although it never hurt to at least ask.

Alfred arched a brow at the question, still leaned over his map, although all attention was then on Arthur. "That I am." He replied simply, then turned his eyes back on to the map he was currently examining.

Arthur told himself that he shouldn't be surprised. He had assumed from the very beginning that Alfred was a corsair, but actually hearing it from him admittedly made the Brit feel a little worse off than he had started. He watched as Alfred traced routes with a pencil, watched him as he looked back at his compass every now and then until Alfred finally glanced back at the Brit, and Arthur ad a feeling Alfred wanted something from him.

"Arthur, could you help me with something here?' he asked, his sapphire eyes gleaming with expectation.

It was strange to Arthur to actually be asked to do something to help Alfred, especially because he expected Alfred not to trust him. But, if Alfred was asking questions, Arthur would be more than willing to answer them. "Aye, what can I do for you?" he asked, albeit with a dubious demeanor as he spoke.

Alfred nodded, obviously happy that Arthur complied, and turned his head back on to the map. Arthur began to consider the fact that he was probably going to end up doing something map-related, which made Arthur consider the irony in helping Alfred take him to his death. He stepped forward, peeking over Alfred's shoulder as the pirate captain examined the map.

Alfred pointed to one part of the map where there was nothing but ocean, then turned his eyes back on Arthur. "Do you see this spot?" he asked, tilting his head at Arthur. Arthur nodded, and Alfred continued: "This is where I estimate we are right now. If we keep going east, we should reach the destination in a matter of days." He stated. Arthur felt slightly ill at the thought of arriving there so soon. He had hoped it would take a little longer, but after realizing Alfred was a corsair and that they weren't going to the Americas, it seemed time would just speed by.

The Brit cleared his throat at the American, and in response, Alfred turned his eyes back on him as he spoke. "So what exactly do you need help with?" he asked.

Alfred splayed his hands against the map in an attempt to flatten it out as he spoke. "We need to find an accurate route towards the drop off point without running into any trouble. I believe about... here... is the best chance we've got." He stated, drawing a path with his pencil. Arthur rolled his eyes at the man's suggestion. It looked ridiculous that he thought such a path would work. "It takes less time if we went this way. And my crew was capable of passing by without any trouble, so I'm sure you'll do just as fine." He stated.

Alfred chuckled happily, slapping Arthur hard on the back. Arthur, of course, found it a little odd that Alfred was so jubilant when the other simply proposed a suggestion, but didn't argue against it. He did, however, make a small step back from where Alfred was standing next to him to ensure that he would not get slapped again.

Alfred began to talk in response to Arthur's well-placed advice. "Thanks for helping me, then, Arthur. Would you mind to share a drink with me?" Alfred offered, the friendly smile still on his lips.

Arthur shrugged, considering it for a moment. Alfred probably had some more work to finish here. "Are you sure?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. There were a lot of holes in the American's offer.

Alfred, though, didn't see an issue with it. "Hmm... you think you can handle your alcohol, old man?" he mocked, placing his pencil back down on the top of the map.

There were only so many times that Arthur wished he didn't have to put up with jokes directed towards him, but he could definitely control his demeanor this time. He simply nodded his head, expecting Alfred to allow him to get his drinking on.

After a short while, Alfred and Arthur left for the dining room. Arthur didn't feel he had done much since he had woken up, and knew he hadn't really done much to deserve a drink, but he supposed if he didn't drink too much it would be okay. He sat himself down across from Alfred, with a nice, full jug of rum in hand.

It was admittedly strange to have Alfred as a companion instead of an annoying twat. Once he got Alfred talking, though, the man was only slightly annoying but had some admittedly good stories to tell, although the man seemed to have a bit of a fire inside of him.

Arthur was sitting around, spending a good time listening to Alfred talk before his eyes began to wander, and he noticed a familiar face not too far away from their table. It was Johnson, with his back to him, sitting alone. Arthur turned his eyes back on to Alfred, who was awaiting a response. His eyes flicked to Johnson before they planted themselves back on Alfred. "Alfred, do you know why Johnson has been acting so strangely lately?" he asked.

Placing a hand on his cheek, Alfred shrugged. "Ah, after your drunkenness, Johnson just seemed a little flustered. He often acts odd... I'm not sure what his issue is. But I do know that Johnson isn't a very good pirate. It would help to teach him a few things." Alfred muttered, glancing over to Johnson as he spoke.

Hmm... so it seemed Johnson wasn't a pirate. He was probably a cabin boy or something of that ilk. Arthur took one last chug of his rum, then slammed it down and stretched his arms above his head. "I think I'm going to take a walk on the deck of the ship." He muttered, mostly to himself. Alfred placed a hand on his cheek, smirking at the Brit as a thought entered his mind. "How do you feel about a friendly spar?" he offered. Arthur scowled in response, standing from his seat as he began to deliver a response. "Naye, not today, Jones. I'm just going to take a walk." He insisted.

The American allowed Arthur to excuse himself, and he walked onto the deck of the ship, feeling some tension lift from his chest. He felt much better about this now, and even thought he might have enough energy to help around on the ship. It really felt like things were turning around for the Brit.

* * *

*full definition attributed to Dictionary . com


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